


Lavender Remains

by Deeranger



Category: James McAvoy - Fandom, Michael Fassbender - Fandom
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Angst and Porn, Asphyxiation, Captivity, Cliffhangers, Dark, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dominance, Don't Like Don't Read, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Gay, Gay Porn Hard, Gun Violence, Hair-pulling, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Insanity, Jealousy, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, McFassy, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Original Character Death(s), Psychological Trauma, Rape, Sad, Sadism, Scary, Secret Relationship, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Smut, Strangulation, Torture, Tragic Romance, Trauma, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 60,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: James and Michael have decided to explore their newfound feelings for each other after the "X-Men: Days of Future Past" wrap by staying at a secluded country inn. Keeping their romance a secret they try to find out what to do, because James is a married man after all. For now at least. But the otherwise cozy stay at the inn takes a dramatic turn when James suddenly goes missing one night. Unwillingly separated from each other both James and Michael are going to realize just how much they love each other. And exactly what they are willing to do in the name of love. Will their love survive? And will they?





	1. Dinner for Two

 

 

The sun was sending down its light in cool, yellow rays piercing the thick layer of clouds drifting across the sky outside the windows. The atmosphere in the restaurant was calm and there was a soft humming of voices and clinking of tableware. For once it was nice that there was no music playing which was usually the case in most restaurants. James was grateful for the quiet. He smiled as he let his glance wander around in the restaurant of the cozy country inn. It had been a good idea to stay here together after the X-Men wrap. He needed a break and most of all he needed a bit of calm after the hectic shoots and long work days in downtown Québec. He had been looking forward to it for weeks. And he really liked this place. The inn had an almost homely feel to it and the entire building was filled with red velvet curtains, yellow floral tapestry, brown leather furniture, solid oak tables and half-faded paintings hanging side by side on the walls. It was like being in the 1950'ies. The rooms might be expensive, but the surroundings were definitely worth it. Everything here was calm and old fashioned and the staff was kind. When he and Michael had received their keycards the receptionist had proudly told them that the inn had just finally upgraded to a digital system with keycards instead of the old, traditional keys and locks. That was about the only modern thing here, James thought, as he studied an old painting of a forest picnic by the bar. The ladies in the painting were sitting in the grass wearing big hats and one of them had a beagle on a leash. He thought the paint looked a bit cracked and chipped in the edges of the canvas which was actually complimenting the painting in an odd way. He smiled and wondered how Michael had even found this place out here in the outskirts of Québec - but it was definitely the most romantic place they had been yet. He couldn't remember the name of this area for the life of him, but it was something along the lines of La Haute-Saint-Charles. A borough of Quebec. And it looked just as beautiful as the French name sounded. Rubbing his cheek James directed his glance back to Michael and discovered that he was seemingly being studied from across the table.

"I like it when you do that," Michael said and smiled a little. James raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Do what?" he asked and let Michael cover his hand with his own on top of the table plate.

"Look dreamy like that," Michael said and softly circled his index finger on the skin on the back of James' hand. James grinned a little. He loved when Michael told him things like that, it made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. For a moment they were just smiling at each other. However Michael withdrew his hand when they were interrupted by a waiter walking up to their table and handing them the menu. Breaking eye contact with James Michael looked up at the blonde lady who was sending them a white smile. James suppressed a sigh. The fact that they couldn't just act as any other couple when out in public was growing a bit annoying. They even had to get two separate rooms even though they only used one. But that was one of the costs of being a celebrity and quite frankly he wasn't comfortable with everyone knowing about their romance just yet. People on set might have a suspicion, but for now he appreciated Michael’s discretion. But he knew that it was hard on him.

"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?" the waiter beamed in a French accent as she took out a small notepad and a pencil. James nodded as he looked from the waiter to Michael.

"You in on some red wine...?" he asked and Michael smiled at him shortly before looking up at the blonde.

"You bet. What can you recommend?" he asked. The blonde woman looked contemplative for a moment.

"Well, our finest is the Chateau Latour 1983..." she said and looked a little flushed. She rolled the pencil between her fingers and bit her lip as she suddenly let out a nervous grin.

"My apologies, I'm new here and I haven't memorized the wine card yet...." she said shyly.

"But I can go get a co-worker and he can tell you..." she started, but James immediately interrupted her.

"Oh, no worries, we'll take your word for it," he said as he held out a hand to ensure her that it was okay. Michael grinned.

"We're not exactly connoisseurs anyway," he added.

"We'll have the Latour," Michael said as he nodded and the blonde smiled and looked a little relieved. She then bit her lip again.

"I have to mention that it's a five hundred dollar bottle, sir," she said regretfully. James' jaw dropped open a little but Michael merely smiled. He sent her an approving wink and she nodded, scribbling it down on the notepad.

"I'll see to it right away while the gentlemen look at the menu," she said and respectfully backed away from the table to head for the wine cellar. As she walked away Michael looked back at James and exposed his white teeth in a broad, shark-like grin. James shook his head a little, his hand grabbing a hold of Michael's.

"A five hundred dollar bottle?" he asked with an incredulous grin, his crystal blue eyes shimmering in the light from the sunset being filtered through the window's glass. Michael tightened his grip a little around James' hand.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you're trying to impress me..." James teased. Michael narrowed his eyes a little at him.

"Well, maybe I am," he said, the grin still on display on his face.

"Or maybe I was just being nice to the lady. You can believe either," he said and let go of James' hand, picking up the heavy leather menu and flipping it open with a nonchalant movement.

"Ooooh," James said coyly, hiding a laugh. However nothing he did ever seemed to escape Michael's attention and he looked at him over the top of the leather binder.

"That's funny to you, huh?" Michael asked, trying to sound hurt. James just glared at him, still suppressing a laugh.

"Yes, a little," he answered and also opened his menu, skimming the names of the various dishes. He realized how hungry he was.

"What do you fancy?" he mumbled and leaned forwards a bit over the table while studying the menu which was both in English and in French. Michael bit his lip, sending him a mischievous glance.

"You," he said and smiled as he saw James' cheeks flush a little by his remark. Trying to look unaffected James flipped through the pages of the menu but he could feel how Michael was watching him. He had to admit that he liked the flirting... This was all so new and exciting and he loved every minute of it. Still it was a bittersweet mix of new passion and a slightly fearful paranoia spiced with a bad conscience. James couldn't help but wonder if he was making the right choice. It felt right, but maybe he was still confused. Maybe he wasn't falling in love, maybe he was going through a phase? After all, only a year ago he would have laughed if anyone had even hinted that he and a male colleague could ever develop any sort of romantic feelings for each other. He had always been so confident in his sexuality. Or so he had thought. Biting his lip he realized that he was skimming the lines in the menu without even taking them in, registering what it said.

"You okay?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. James almost jumped as his chain of thought was broken. Letting out a small sigh he managed to send Michael a half-hearted smile, which was supposed to look reassuring.

"Yeah..." he said and put down the menu as Michael found his hand again, knowing that he had failed miserably at his attempt to seem calm and collected.

"Look... I know that this is an awkward situation. There is a lot at stake. For both of us. Both professionally and personally. And I want you to know that it's alright whatever you decide," Michael said under his breath, locked in deep eye contact with James. Nuzzling Michael's hand a little James couldn't help but feel the adoration for this man wash through him as a warm wave of gratitude.

"I love you. And I want you to be happy. You know that," Michael said softly, the affection clearly radiating from his eyes. James was still taken aback by Michael's astonishing skill to read him like an open book.

"I love you too," James said and swallowed.

"I just... It's going so fast and I guess... I guess it scares me," he whispered, feeling his heart skip a beat or two. Michael smiled and gently squeezed James' hand a little.

"It's alright. I understand. We'll take it slow, you set the pace," he said, clearly stating that there was no pressure. James smiled, this time genuinely.

"Thank you," he said gratefully. He was feeling bad about putting Michael on hold like this due to that damn insecurity. They had talked about it before in his trailer on set. Why couldn't he shake it off? Why couldn't he just decide? No matter what he felt torn between the security of his normal life and the enticing, new reality of this whirlwind romance. He had to decide some time soon. He simply couldn't get himself to postpone it for much longer, keeping Michael in a limbo like this. It wasn't fair. Taking a deep breath James picked the menu back up.

"Let's get some grub, yeah?" he said, brushing his shoulder length brown hair behind his ears with a slow movement as if it was somehow soothing him a little to do so. He exhaled softly. He knew that Michael could see him struggling, but he also knew that he understood. It made his heart melt and his knees go soft that Michael was willing to put himself through this turmoil of waiting and the insecurity of not knowing what the future held... All for him. Michael squeezed his hand once more before picking the menu back up too. He knew when to back off a little and just let James reflect on things. He didn't want to push him.

"How does the roast beef sound?" Michael asked, feeling his stomach rumble. James found the description in the menu and read it out loud:

"The roast beef au jus is a classic slow-roasted prime rib garnished with fresh rosemary and thyme sprigs. Carved at the table. Served with mashed potatoes and sautéed haricots verts," he said and looked up at Michael.

"I'm in!" he said. In the same moment the sound of footsteps reached their ears and they both looked up as the blonde waiter stopped in front of their table, presenting their ordered bottle of red wine. James couldn't help but study how the black pencil skirt hugged her slender hips and how her blonde hair had been fastened in a bun on the top of her head. She was quite petite but her black stilettos made her taller. She reminded him of Anne-Marie. With his gaze lingering on her he wondered what a separation from his wife might be like… But right now he didn’t want to investigate that feeling all too much. But god, how she looked like her. Shaking it off James smiled at the woman as she opened the bottle with a skilled hand. She returned his smile as she started to pour the expensive ruby colored liquid into Michael's glass first.

"Looks good!" James burst out as he noticed how dense the color of the wine was. Dark and rich. He was a little excited to taste a five hundred dollar bottle wine, he had to admit. Usually it was more in the twenty dollar range.

"It does, doesn't it?" the blonde said in a silky voice as the sleeve of her white shirt grazed James' hand when she poured his glass.

"There you go, gentlemen," she said and Michael grabbed his glass, swirling the wine around slightly as he smelled it. He looked contemplative as he analyzed the scent. James looked at the waiter again.

"Thank you," he said and then looked at Michael. He still looked focused on the wine.

"We'd like the roast beef au jus," Michael then said as he put the glass to his lips and took a small sip. James raised an eyebrow slightly as the waiter immediately fished out the notepad and pencil again and began scribbling.

"Of course, sir. One of our best dishes," she smiled and then looked at Michael.

"Is the wine to your liking?" she asked carefully and watched as he looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. It's very nice," he said a little flatly and put the glass down, rotating it thoughtfully with his fingers. He then picked up the two leather menus and handed them to the blonde. The petite woman looked a little surprised by this and she hurried to stick the notepad in her pocket along with the pencil in order to grab them. As she quickly grabbed the heavy binders she placed them under her arm and sent Michael an insecure smile.

"I'll go and place your order with the chef, gentlemen. I hope you enjoy the wine," she said and backed away, only to turn and head for the kitchen. James turned his head and looked as she walked away. He then looked back at Michael a little perplexed.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, a little worried by the change in Michael's behavior. It might be subtle, but it was definitely there. Grabbing his glass again Michael took another sip as his fingers explored the texture of the cloth napkins by his plate. He looked sort of stone-faced.

"If you want to break this off... Just tell me," Michael said softly as he finally raised his glance and looked at James. His usually cheerful expression had been replaced by a sad one and James frowned in confusion.

"What..? But I..." James started, but Michael interrupted him.

"Honesty is the most important thing to me in all of this. And I meant what I said before. Every word of it. Just... Promise me you'll tell me," Michael said, now managing to send James a little smile. It wasn't one of his usually radiant smiles... more like a forced one. He then looked down at the napkin by his plate again. James swallowed.

"I'll... I'd tell you, but...Where is this coming from?" he asked, concerned with Michael's sudden change of mood. Michael was scraping the nail of his index finger against the cloth napkin as if he was trying to level out the starchy texture. He snorted slightly in frustration.

"I'm a simple man, James..." Michael said softly, almost inaudibly. Again he raised his glance, lifting it off the napkin.

"Jealousy is one of my worst traits," he then said and James' eyes widened as he realized what was going on. Michael had obviously noticed that he had been looking at the waiter, mistaking his inspecting glance as a sign of interest instead of the melancholic flash-back that it had been. James opened his mouth to ensure Michael that he had misunderstood the situation, but Michael held out his hand, letting it hover over the napkin.

"It's okay, James. I just need to calm myself a little. It's not like I own you," he said and folded the napkin only to unfold it again. James felt like his heart sank. He felt like saying that he wanted Michael to own him - but he stopped himself. How could he say something like that when he wasn't even sure if he was on the right path? Making the right choice? Biting his lip James redirected his glance and stared out the window. The sun was setting and dusk was spreading out its monochrome darkness slowly but surely over the landscape. He felt a little like the landscape looked. Grey. And sad.

"Do you have to go to that meeting tonight?" James asked quietly, staring at the big lawn with its trees swaying in the breeze outside the window. Michael let out a small sigh.

"Yes... I have to," he said and James looked at him. He had to control himself to not start pleading Michael to just stay here. They needed to talk. To sort things out... To find out what to do and what to feel and not to feel. But being so confused himself James didn't know where to start or what to say. He felt like he couldn't see the forest for the trees. So who was he to discuss feelings and sort out anything? But he really wished that they could just eat and then go to one of their rooms and hide under the covers together, talking all night like they did so often.

"Here comes our food," Michael said and sent James a little smile. James couldn't decipher whether it was a genuine one or a forced one. The petite blonde waiter walked up to their table, balancing a big chopping board with a roast on it in one hand and a tray with sauce, haricots verts and mashed potatoes in the other. James focused on Michael, but he couldn't catch his glance because Michael was apparently still analyzing the napkins.

"I hope you'll enjoy, gentlemen," the waiter smiled as she placed the chopping board in the middle of the table, bending her upper body down to do so. Her discrete cleavage in the white shirt came uncomfortably close to James' face and automatically he pushed himself backwards in his chair a little. As she stood back up she looked at James:

"Let me know if you need anything," she said and arranged the small ceramic pitcher with the sauce carefully next to the platter of haricots verts and the bowl of mashed potatoes, aligning them perfectly with each other. James tried to avoid eye contact, but he didn't want to be impolite and Michael didn't look like he was going to say anything.

"Thank you, we will," James said and cleared his throat a little nervously as the blonde's sleeve brushed against his hand again when she was finally done arranging the food. She smelled of lavender, James suddenly noticed to his surprise. It reminded him of the perfume Anne-Marie always used to wear. Annoyed with himself for thinking about Anne-Marie once again he brushed an escaped strand of hair back behind his ear. This lack of ability to control his thoughts was frustrating and James bit his lower lip hard as if to jerk himself back to reality. He had no interest in this woman what so ever, but she kept reminding him of Anne-Marie, and it was more than distracting to say the least. He was here with Michael and only Michael. He needed to give him the attention he deserved and not lose focus like this.

"Bon appétit," the waiter beamed and finally walked away from the table. James felt like he could breathe again. And the lavender fragrance quickly dissipated in the steam rising from the roast and bowl of mashed potatoes. He looked at Michael whose steel eyes were scanning the table and inspecting the abundance of food.

"It looks delicious," Michael said and nodded at James. He sounded a little more cheerful than before, but still he seemed a bit distracted. His glance wasn't the usual carefree one.

"Care to cut me a piece of that?" he then asked, referring to the roast on the chopping board. James picked up the carving knife along with the fork and started to cut thin, juicy slices of meat. Looking at his watch Michael's eyebrows shot up.

"Shit... I have to go soon," he said and held out his plate when James gestured for him to do so and placed a slice of meat on it.

"Is it past six already?" James asked surprised, convinced that the time had to be no more than five or so in the evening. Time always flew by when he was in Michael's company and he couldn't help but look at his own watch just to make sure. Michael nodded as he poured sauce over the meat and finally looked up:

"Look... I'm sorry. I know I can be a dick," Michael said, sending James a sad look while shoveling some mashed potatoes on to his plate. He let out a small sigh.

"I guess I'm scared of losing you," he added and took a bite of meat, raising his eyebrows in surprise as the intense flavor spread on his tongue. James smiled at him, relieved that Michael was opening up a little and not keeping it all inside which he had a tendency to do... Just like he did as well.

"She is quite hot though, so I can't say I blame you. You haven't tasted the wine yet?" Michael said as he was swirling the dark liquid around in his glass. James blinked a little, surprised that Michael was apparently still convinced that he had been checking the waiter out.

"I'm not interested in her," James said a little frustrated while cutting himself a slice of meat as well. Michael merely smiled and it was impossible to decipher what that smile meant. Taking another bite Michael nodded towards the glass of untouched wine next to James' plate.

"Go ahead and taste it," Michael smiled. James couldn't help but return his smile and he picked up the glass of wine and carefully smelled it. Michael hadn't seemed all that thrilled about the fancy wine judging by his reaction from before but none the less he seemed rather enthusiastic now. Putting the glass to his lips James looked at Michael before taking a small sip. The taste tingled and spread like a fruity explosion on his tongue. Taken aback by the intense flavor James uttered a "whoa" and blinked a few times. This seemed to amuse Michael, who chuckled.

"Pretty nice, isn't it?" he asked and winked at James, who was still staring at the glass a little incredulously. Brushing his hair behind his ears again he looked at Michael.

"Nice?? My tongue just had a fucking orgasm," he grinned and took another sip.

"I'm glad," Michael smiled with a lustful twinkle in his eye as he took another bite of the food. It tasted divine.

"Talking about orgasms... Can't wait for that meeting to be over," Michael whispered and savored the look of James' cheeks immediately getting flushed. And it wasn't because of the wine. He then looked at his watch again. It was half past six in the evening, and he would have to leave soon for the meeting downtown. Letting out a small sigh he shoveled more food on to his plate.

"Sorry, I know this isn't exactly proper etiquette..." he mumbled as he ate. James chuckled slightly, studying Michael as he desperately tried to eat as fast as possible without looking like a complete savage. That man always had a huge appetite - and not only for food, James thought to himself. Enjoying the wine and the food James was happy that he wasn't forced to rush. Instead he slowly drank the wine and savored the juicy flavors of the food in front of him along with the sight of Michael, sloppy or not. Time was ticking by fast and when Michael looked at his watch again he put his knife and fork down.

"Damn it," he said and motioned to get up from his chair, letting his hand brush discretely against James' thigh under the table as he stood up.

"I have to go. I don't know when I'll be back, I'm guessing around midnight," he said and wrapped his woolen scarf around his neck. Looking around quickly to see if anyone nearby was looking in their direction he placed a hand on James shoulder, squeezing it slightly. James placed his hand on top of Michael's and sent him a smile. He wanted to kiss him but they both knew that they better not. As Michael walked up to the bar and paid the bill, he sent James hidden smile over his shoulder. As he walked out of the restaurant James returned his glance to the wine glass and the huge meal in front of him and he let out a little sigh.

 

 

 


	2. A Connoisseur's Choice

 

 

 

Darkness had fallen outside the windows of the restaurant and the warm, orange light from the room’s many lamps reflected in the glass. James had finished his meal some time ago and was now just staring into the air, relaxing while feeling full but yet not content. He was thinking about Michael's jealousy and his own lack of ability to tell him exactly what was on his mind. He needed to learn how to open up. He sometimes felt like he wasn't even trying, like he was stuck in a repetitive groove in an old LP record. He would have to work on that and it was something that he definitely wanted to discuss with Michael later. Sighing he took a sip of wine and leaned back a little. In the same moment he could hear someone approaching the table.

"Everything satisfactory, sir?" the blonde waiter asked with a smile. James nodded and looked at the petite woman while carefully placing his knife and fork in the "I'm finished" position on the plate slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten to do so. He then returned her smile.

"Yes, thank you. It tasted great," he said and leaned back a little further when she bent down slightly to pick up his plate.

"And the wine?" she asked while picking up his and Michael's plates, balancing them on top of each other. She also grabbed the sauce pitcher and the bowls and put them on her rather big tray. James smiled and looked at her shortly.

"The wine was excellent. The best I've ever had," he said and nodded in appreciation. The waiter immediately lit up and exposed a set of white teeth in a brilliant smile.

"I'm happy to hear that, sir! The only thing better in this restaurant is our whiskey! But they do say it's a special one," she beamed as she shifted her glance between James and stacking and balancing the tableware. He raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Has to be a scotch then I take it?" James grinned, naturally feeling slightly patriotic when it came to this particular spirit. The waiter looked a bit surprised.

"Actually it is...!" she said, her gray eyes opening a little wider.

"How is it, does whiskey come from Ireland or Scotland...?" she asked, looking rather perplexed as she bit her lip. James let out a soft laugh as he brushed the hair extensions behind his ear.

"Oh no, no, don't get me started on that one. There's only one answer to that for a Scotsman, yeah?" he said in his signature Scottish accent and sent her a small smile. The waiter giggled a little as she finally stood back up with all of the dirty tableware neatly stacked on the tray.

"I guess so, sir," she grinned. James took a little sip of his red wine and tipped the bottle a little to see how much was left in there. To his disbelief there was only about half a glass left. Maybe that was why he was feeling a little chatty. He didn't feel quite as intimidated by the waiter or Michael's jealousy anymore either. Things weren't so bad after all. The waiter motioned to turn and leave, but his curiosity had been piqued.

"What's the name?" he asked and looked up at the blonde.

"Umm... My name's Emma, sir," she said a little flushed. James let out a flustered grin.

"Oh, no, I meant the scotch, love. Sorry...! But it's lovely to meet you, Emma," he said, a little flushed himself from the awkwardness he had just put the poor lady in. Scratching the stubble on his chin he sent her a slightly insecure smile to try and mend any harm he might have caused her self-confidence, but to his relief she merely smiled back.

"Oh, of course. Well, it's a Cragganmore single malt from 1985," she said cheerfully. James looked at her a little wide-eyed.

"But that's a rare one..!" he said in surprise.

"It is, sir. An excellent Speyside whisky. Would you like to try it?" she asked. James bit his lower lip.

"I should slow down a little or I'll be feeling this tomorrow," he said and nodded towards the wine bottle with a slight grin. The waiter smiled at him.

"But I guess I'm a bit too curious to let it pass," he said, feeling fickle. He had read about this whisky some time ago - but being an old and rare bottle he'd never expected to get the possibility to actually taste it. He had nothing better to do anyway.

"You sold it. I would like a wee dram," he then said to the waiter, who immediately lit up in a brilliant smile again.

"Of course, sir! My colleague will serve it for you at the bar, it's right over there," she said and pointed to the back of the room. James nodded and followed the invisible line of her index finger with his glance, eyeing the bar with an older man standing behind the wooden counter polishing some glasses with his checkered dishtowel.

"Thank you," James said and got up from his chair after drinking the last sip of wine. The waiter respectfully backed away a little and didn't turn to leave before he started making his way towards the bar. She then continued towards the kitchen with her tray while James approached the man behind the bar counter and sat himself down on one of the tall, leather bar stools. The older man behind the counter sent him a polite smile as he tucked away the dishtowel.

"Good evening, sir. What can I get you?" he said in a rusty voice which indicated that he might have had quite a few drinks himself during the years. He looked like he was in his forties judging by his face but he was of heavy build and quite muscular it seemed. James scanned the bar's many shelves behind the bartender looking for the whiskeys and studying the bottles as he went. There were quite a few whiskeys, he noticed, but mostly the regular brands such as Glenfiddich, Wild Turkey, Jack Daniels, Tullamore Dew and so on - all put neatly on display side by side. They even had his favorite scotch whiskies, Laphroaig and Talisker, he realized a little impressed.

"I was told that you have a 1985 Cragganmore," James said as he searched his pocket for his wallet. The bartender looked a bit surprised but he immediately nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes, I do indeed, sir!" he said and ducked down behind the counter, rummaging about eagerly. He then popped back up holding a bottle which he proudly presented to James.

"It's an excellent Speyside I have to say. Rare too," he said proudly as he grabbed a dram glass and looked at James, waiting for his approval to pour. James nodded with a smile. And slowly the bartender poured the golden liquid into the glass, very careful not to spill anything. Sliding the dram glass across the counter he smiled broadly.

"Excellent choice, sir. I tell you, this one's worth it. It's spiced and oaky with notes of fresh flowers, Serrano ham and almond oil. Not to mention fruity and rich with notes of tinned peaches, plums, a hint of soft wood smoke and rye bread," he said in an excited tone of voice as he put the corkstopper back on the bottle. James frowned slightly in surprise.

"Sounds like you're quite the connoisseur," James said and picked up the dram, smelling it. The spicy scent filled his nostrils and he put the glass to his lips, taking a small sip.

"Well, I have to know what I sell my customers, don't I?" the bartender grinned and looked at James expectantly, awaiting his reaction to the drink. James raised his eyebrows slightly as he savored the strong taste tingling on his tongue. The whisky felt like silk when he swallowed.

"That's... That's one good whisky!" James burst out in surprise and the bartender let out a small laugh.

"A tinge of peppermint oil on the tail rounds it up nicely," James said and took another sip. The bartender sent him a skew smile.

"I'm not the only connoisseur here, I see," he grinned and James couldn't help but laugh. He had tasted some whiskies in his time, that was for sure. Maybe even too many. Being Scottish you couldn't avoid it and he was quite content with that fact to be honest. James looked at his wrist watch and was surprised to discover that the time was only eight in the evening. He had a lot of time to kill before Michael returned. Without noticing it his fingers were repetitively turning the dram glass around on the oak bar counter as he was savoring the after taste of the whisky.

"So what is the verdict, sir?" a voice suddenly said. James jumped a little in his seat and turned his head to the side to look in the direction the sound had come from. It was the blonde waiter approaching the bar with a stack of clean glasses from the kitchen. Walking behind the bar she looked at him expectantly. James had stopped turning the dram glass around and lifted it up to have another sip.

"Well, it's true what they say. It is beyond excellent," James smiled and sipped the whisky carefully from the small glass. The waiter smiled radiantly as she put the clean glasses on a shelf behind the bartender, not taking her eyes off him.

"I can't help but wonder what you would think of its Irish rival," she said and grinned a little while placing the glasses perfectly lined up next to each other on the long shelf. James furrowed his brows slightly.

"I bet it's inferior. But I guess you never know," he said and smiled as he emptied the dram glass. The petite blonde raised an eyebrow.

"I bet it can match it," she said with a sudden security in her voice which surprised James. Letting out a slightly flustered laugh he shrugged and slowly slid the empty dram glass across the counter towards the bartender.

"Ah, well... I've had enough for one night and besides I think my wallet's screaming at me at this point," James chuckled as he placed a couple of large bills on the counter and glared down into the pretty much empty wallet. He turned a little and motioned to step down from the bar stool.

"It's on the house," the waiter suddenly said. James turned his head in surprise and looked at her. She nodded reassuringly.

"I'm curious to know if a Scotsman can appreciate an Irish single malt... Or maybe even admit if it's the better one," she said in a challenging tone of voice as she placed the last clean glass on the shelf next to the others. James bit his lip. His head was already buzzing a little from the wine and Cragganmore whisky. The waiter seemed to notice his hesitation.

"Is this really happening? Is a Scotsman turning down a thirty year old whiskey?" she grinned and placed her hands in her sides, sending him an amused look. James let out a mix between a sigh and a laugh as he turned himself back to the counter on his stool.

"I guess I'm not a proper Scot if I do," he said and lifted his hands a little as if to brace himself.

"I'd be an embarrassment to the nation of Scotland if I turn down a free dram of fine whiskey... even if it's Irish," he joked and tilted his head a little in amusement. The waiter smiled broadly and immediately turned around and fished a bottle out of a cupboard by her knees. The bartender let out a chuckle.

"Oh, she's expecting a full review now I think," he laughed and removed the empty dram glass from the counter.

"You do seem to know quite a lot about whiskey, sir," he added and looked approvingly at James, who couldn't help but let out a small grin. Feeling slightly flushed he shook his head a little.

"I'm not sure about that. Maybe I'm just the average lush," he said. Behind the bartender the waiter turned around and approached the counter with a dram glass filled to the brim.

"One 1985 Bushmills Artist Reserve coming up," she said and carefully placed the dram glass in front of James, sending him a skew smile. Looking at the golden liquid in the glass James noticed that she was looking at him expectantly. He guessed that since he and Michael had probably paid both the bartender's and the waiter's wages times ten this evening a drink on the house was a kind gesture. Or maybe they were simply a bit bored - the restaurant was nearly empty except a single, elderly man sitting by a table reading a newspaper. His white hair seemed to almost light up in the dim room and once in a while he cleared his throat, the sound piercing the quiet of the restaurant. Seemingly the inn didn't have many customers this season despite of it being so appealing...

"Thank you, that's very kind," he said and picked up the dram glass. He smelled it carefully and its sweet scent was prominent. It had tones of mature bourbon, dark chocolate and toffee and James raised an eyebrow in respectful surprise. Both the bartender and the waiter were busy polishing glasses and pitchers behind the counter but it was pretty obvious that they were excited to see what he would think of the Irish spirit. Feeling a little watched James put the glass to his lips and took a sip. The flavor spread like a controlled explosion on his tongue, both sharp and round at the same time. Blinking James cleared his throat.

"Wow..." he said and immediately both the waiter and the bartender looked at him.

"Well, it IS very good I have to admit" he said a little guiltily and analyzed the aftertaste. The bartender grinned.

"Can you taste its oak and resin?" he asked curiously as he threw his checkered dishtowel over the shoulder. James nodded as he turned the dram glass thoughtfully.

"And ginger, cinnamon and surprisingly a touch of liquorice," James said and took another sip.

"It has a slightly bitter tinge though, but I think the taste of dried fruit and vanilla makes up for it," he said and the bartender nodded in impressed surprise.

"So who wins the match? Scotland or Ireland?" the waiter asked and leaned a bit over the counter, looking at James in a sort of childish expectation. Biting his lip James brushed his hair behind his ears and placed his hands on the counter, clapping the oak surface a couple of times as he thought it over.

"Well, I'm still a proud Scot. Ireland loses the match. I have to admit it WAS close though," he grinned and the waiter let out a long 'awwww' as she let her arms fall down her sides. Chuckling she looked at him as he cleared his throat a little.

"I do humbly thank you for the drink, it really was exquisite," James added and exhaled deeply. The petite blonde sent him a white smile as she polished the last glass. James looked at his wrist watch shortly. 'Damn, only nine' he thought to himself and rubbed his temples. There was still quite a lot of time to kill before Michael came back and he really had no idea what he should do next. Maybe just keep sitting here? There was nothing to do in the room besides sleep anyway. James looked up by the sound of the waiter clapping the bartender on his broad shoulder:

"Well, it's nine and I'm off duty," she said happily and threw the dishtowel on a footstool behind the counter. The bartender let out a tired groan but sent her a small smile as he removed James' dram glass.

"Want another drink, sir?" he asked hoarsely and James immediately shook his head.

"No, thank you, I think today's alcohol quota has been reached.... and breached," he grinned, still massaging his temples in a useless attempt to get his head to stop buzzing.

"We DO serve non-alcoholic beverages too though. I know I'd like one," the waiter said as she made her way out from behind the bar. She placed herself two stools from James and drummed her fingernails against the bar counter as if she was very impatient.

"The usual, please," she smiled at the bartender before looking at James:

"You know alcohol is a diuretic, right?" she said in a maternal tone of voice and smiled a little. James raised an eyebrow.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" he asked and let out a sigh as he nodded at the bartender. She was probably right. He probably needed some proper liquid in his system other than wine and whiskey. Besides soda always made his potential hangover less uncomfortable. The bartender chuckled as he fished out two big glasses.

"What would you like, sir?" he asked.

"A coke, please," James said and blinked a few times to try and clear his head. The alcohol really did deliver quite a punch tonight. The bartender poured him a regular coke and her a Coca Cola Zero and placed the glasses in front of them.

"Thank you," they said in unison and the blonde let out a small giggle as they looked at each other in amusement. James then picked up his glass and drank some gulps of coke. He felt quite thirsty. Looking around in the small restaurant he couldn't see anyone but the old man, his white hair still almost glowing in the dim light in a corner far away. He missed Michael. Looking at the oil painting he had studied during dinner he suddenly noticed that he couldn't make out the faces of the ladies sitting in the grass. Maybe it was just the dim lighting in the restaurant, but his head was spinning a little. Blinking his eyes he gulped down some more coke. It had been a while since he had drunk a considerable quantity of alcohol like he had tonight, but still he was a bit surprised. He rubbed his temples and sighed a little, placing his elbows on the bar counter.

"I really liked your performance in First Class," the petite woman suddenly said and James turned his head to look at her, a little surprised. He had had the impression that she didn't know who he was during this entire evening.

"Thank you," he said and sent her a small smile. She returned the smile and he gulped down another mouthful of coke. His throat felt annoyingly dry. And he didn't like the way his head was spinning. Grabbing his wallet from his jeans' back pocket he placed another large bill on the counter, making sure to pay for the coke and tip the staff generously.

"I admire your work, Mr. McAvoy. I've seen all your films. You think maybe I could get your autograph?" the woman asked as she fished out the notepad, sending him a hopeful glance. James raised an eyebrow.

"Sure..." he said and immediately she jumped down from the bar stool and walked up to him.

"Thank you so much!" she beamed and placed the notepad and a pen on the counter in front of him while leaning in slightly. James couldn't help but catch the scent of her lavender perfume when her shoulder brushed against his when he grabbed the pen.

"To Emma...." she said in an excited voice, urging him to write her name along with his autograph. James nodded and smiled a little as he put the pen to the paper. Blinking a few times he noticed that the light blue lines on the paper seemed to blur out. Concentrating on trying to get the lines to look sharp he narrowed his eyes. He felt odd.

"There you go," James said as he wrote her name and his signature. He wanted to add a 'thanks for the drink' but he simply wasn't sure if it would even be readable. His head was buzzing and he felt really drunk. The notepad was fading in and out of focus. Swallowing he turned on the bar stool and gave her back the notepad, but suddenly she flung her arms around him, hugging him.

"Merci!" she burst out. James almost lost his balance for a second on the tall stool, but he regained it. Surprised he gently hugged her back. The scent of lavender was even more prominent now that they hugged and he felt the softness of her breasts against his torso. A little flustered he motioned to break the embrace, feeling a bit awkward. However she didn't follow his lead to pull back - instead she turned her head, resting it on his shoulder. Her warm breath hit the side of his neck.

"Would you like to show me your room?" she whispered in his ear. James froze at this unexpected and very obvious flirtation, blinking a few times. Gently he placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed a little.

"No, I'm sorry..." he said as she pulled back a little when he slowly pushed her. With a look of disappointment on her face she placed a hand on his knee.

"Are you sure?" she said in a silky voice, circling her index finger on his knee. Furrowing his brows James grabbed a hold of her wrist, gently but resolutely moving it away.

"Look.... Emma... You're a lovely lady, but I am not interested," he said and let go of her wrist. Looking a bit offended the petite blonde placed her hand on the counter instead as she stuck the notepad in her pocket with the other. But she didn't back away. The bartender behind the counter was seemingly busy minding his own business and James slid the money further across the counter.

"Keep the rest," he said, surprised to discover that his voice sounded a little slurry. Making his way down from the bar stool he almost tripped and had to fight to regain his balance. Grabbing a hold of the edge of the counter he pulled himself back up and immediately the woman let out a small giggle.

"A scotsman that can't hold his liquor...?" she asked as she eyed him up and down with an amused glance. James shook his head to try and clear it, resting his underarms on the counter. The bartender was sending him a weird look which looked like a kind of revolted smirk. Swallowing James lowered his head and glared at his shoes to try and stop the floor from swaying under him. The entire restaurant felt like it was beginning to spin. Small droplets of sweat was slowly starting to form on his forehead and he wasn't sure if it was from him feeling a bit sick or if it was from the embarrassment. Determined to get out of there James tried to walk past the blonde towards the entrance of the restaurant, but his knees felt like jelly and wobbly on his feet he stumbled and fell straight towards the woman. He didn't even have the time to think or react before his face was buried in her cleavage as he completely lost his balance. Managing to grab a hold of the counter with one hand and having the other one flailing in the air, James immediately pulled back the best he could.

"God, I'm so sorry...!" he burst out in a raspy voice as he supported himself against the counter. A surprised chuckle escaped the blonde who laid an arm around him.

"Easy, tiger. Don't you think you need some assistance?" she said as she tightened her grip around him a little to let him know that she would help him keep his balance. James wanted to shake his head, but he knew that she was right. He was way too intoxicated to be walking anywhere on his own. Shortly he looked at her, feeling his cheeks burn in utter embarrassment.

"I think... Yes, thank you," he slurred and she pulled at him a little as they started slowly walking towards the entrance of the small restaurant. The place was completely abandoned now. James thought he heard the bartender let out a somewhat patronizing laugh somewhere behind them, but at this point he didn't care. He just wanted to get to his room and lie down. His throat felt like sandpaper and his tongue was so dry that it almost stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tried to swallow. He had never felt like this before... Well, he had been drunk out of his mind on several occasions of course, but this had a different feel to it somehow.

"Come on now, watch the step," the woman said softly as they made it from the restaurant into the lobby. The black and white checkered floor seemed to be dancing in front of James' eyes and he concentrated deeply on not falling over but at the same time he didn't want to put too much weight on the petite blonde next to him. But he was practically clinging on to her as they walked through the empty lobby and again he felt his cheeks burn.

"I'm sorry..." he said hoarsely as they made their way towards the carpeted staircase which seemed to have doubled. Blinking James tried to get his vision to sharpen, but to no avail what so ever. Everything was blurry. The woman was also starting to sweat a little from the physical effort it took to support and drag James across the rather big lobby. The scent of lavender had mixed a little with salty sweat, he noticed.

"No worries, mon ami," she said with a smile. In the same moment they turned a little to the left towards the exit. James furrowed his brows slightly at the change of course because the staircase was to the right. Trying to move in that direction he found himself mumbling something along the lines of "where're we going", but it was so incoherent that he wasn't even sure what he had actually said. The blonde patted his shoulder a little.

"I think some fresh air will do you good," she said as they moved towards the door to the parking lot outside. James didn't find the strength to answer, instead he just followed her lead and tried his best not to fall over. As she opened the door a gust of cold wind hit him in the face and it actually did feel a little refreshing. None the less the dark parking lot only lit by a few lamp posts was completely blurred out. Everything just looked like a grayish soup of mist with some scattered dots of light here and there. He felt extremely tired. How could he be this drunk? To his surprise he noticed that they were still walking. Somewhere he heard the sound of a car engine.

"Where...?" he began, but the blonde squeezed his shoulder in an almost maternal manner.

"Aww, don't you worry," she just said as they came to a hold in what James thought could be the corner of the parking lot. He really couldn't tell. The noise from the car engine was getting a bit louder, but James couldn't spot any headlights in the thick soup of gray. Leaning against her shoulder he tried to stand up properly, but found that he would only fall over if he tried. His mind was spinning and he wasn't really sure why he was even here. Suddenly the noise of the car engine was very close and James heard the crunching of pebbles against asphalt under some tires. Why couldn't he see any headlights?

"Your ride is here," the blonde suddenly said and he felt her move a little. Then a click from a door handle of a car being popped open. James stiffened up slightly.

"What…? Where'm I going?" he slurred and held up one of his arms as she started to pull at him. He had forgotten why he was here. And exactly where 'here' was. He felt dizzy and all he could think about was to just lie down in his room and wait for Michael to come back. The woman pulled at him a little harder.

"Come on, Mr. McAvoy," she said and he stumbled slightly, but found himself leaning against the side of a car. He could feel the cool metal under his palms. Turning his head to look at her he fought to stand up straight.

"But...?" he started, but once more the blonde interrupted him.

"Just get in the car. You'll get a cold out here, silly," she said softly and grabbed a hold of his shoulder and waist, guiding him to sit down in the back seat. Feeling utterly tired and confused James found himself complying. If he didn't sit down he was going to fall down, that was for sure. It felt like all energy had left his body and had turned it into melted marshmallows. Dizzy and disoriented he plopped down on the backseat.

"Where am I...?" he mumbled as he leaned his head back against the headrest, feeling completely spent. His eyes closed heavily as he started to doze off a little. He thought he felt a hand on his thigh as the woman sat herself down next to him and closed the door.

"You're going home, James," she said sweetly and the car started driving when she leaned against him with a soft sigh. The small droplets of sweat on his forehead slowly rolled down his skin and it felt like the entire car was spinning around in circles. Despite of him wanting to he couldn't seem to open his eyes and to his surprise he felt himself falling asleep.

 

 

 

 


	3. Trapped

Darkness. Then small specks of light shifting in intensity and flaring up once in a while. James tried to focus on the light dots in the dark, but every time he did they seemed to either fade out or give him a headache. He felt so incredibly tired. Where was he? It felt like he was lying down on a very slow moving carousel. Feeling a little sick he tried to focus on a dot of light again - and it flared up, resulting in a dull pain shooting through his head. He then realized that it wasn't dark around him at all. He had been looking at the inside of his eyelids, and the specks of light were only present when he had tried to open them. He heard himself mumble something incoherent as he tried to force his eyes open. Immediately pain ricocheted around inside his head like a stray bullet and a moan escaped him. Moving a little he discovered that he was lying on his side on something uncomfortably cold and hard. His hair fell over his eyes as he moved, shadowing them from the bright light. This allowed him to finally open his eyes without instantly closing them again. Looking through strands of hair he found himself staring at a concrete floor full of dried spatters of white paint and oil drops. His head hurt and his entire body felt like he had a massive hangover. Had he really drunk that much yesterday? Blinking James suddenly vaguely remembered that he had been in the parking lot outside the inn and he thought he remembered the backseat of a car. His eyes had adjusted a little to the sharp light and he looked up, seeing wooden plank walls without any decoration. Squinting he noticed strip lamps emitting a hard, white light in the ceiling. Being able to feel his own pulse hammer painfully in his head he wanted to shade his eyes, but he suddenly realized that he couldn't move his hands. Somehow they were fixed behind his back and when he tried to move them a sound of metal hitting metal reached his ears. 

"What the hell...?" he heard himself groan as he turned his head only to see that he had been cuffed to a water pipe. Instantly his heart rhythm picked up speed and his breath automatically hitched. Quickly he tried to sit up, still disoriented and feeling groggy. What was going on? Swallowing he noticed how dry his mouth was and confused he looked around in the room, which was still a bit blurry. He finally managed to sit up properly and lean against the pipe which stretched from the ceiling to the floor. 

"Hello…??" he called, his voice raspy and still slightly slurry. Examining the cuffs with his fingers he quickly discovered that they were indeed locked tightly around his wrists and frustrated he pulled at them, testing them. His head was throbbing, but he ignored it and tried to figure out where he was while squinting his eyes to sharpen his vision a little. The metallic noise he made when testing the cuffs felt like it pierced his ears and rung inside his skull. As he tried to wriggle his hands out of the cuffs James noticed a door to his right, almost blending completely in with the plank wall except for a small rectangular window in its upper half. The room which measured about twenty by twenty feet was kind of messy and full of old, broken furniture, a stack of mattresses, toolboxes, a rusty army bed frame and various garden equipment. Everything seemed to have been tossed in here randomly and it was all covered in thin and dusty cob webs. What looked like a rather new folding chair was standing up against the wall opposite James. Feeling his gut turn in a mix between fear and feeling sick James looked around nervously as he tried to find a way to free himself from the water pipe, letting his fingers feel their way up and down the pipe trying to find any weak spots. The only thing he found was a rather big compression fitting on the pipe a few inches above the floor. He immediately tried to see if he could loosen it, but no matter how hard he tried to twist the fitting it wouldn't budge. His mind was still uncomfortably hazy but despite of this he started to realize that this was indeed frighteningly real. Continuing to squint he looked around, starting to feel the panic spread as his heart hammered unevenly in his chest and sweat drops started to form on his forehead. Panicky he tried to get up from his sitting position, but it was hard becauase he felt oddly heavy and weak at the same time. Guiding himself upwards by holding awkwardly on to the pipe behind his back he managed to stand up after a few futile attempts. His mouth felt like the Sahara and desperately he pulled at the pipe, his thoughts racing with two hundred miles per hour. What on earth was going on? Suddenly the door handle moved and James snapped his head to the right, staring at the door's small window. Through the rather thick looking glass he saw a face he thought he recognized and the heavy door opened completely soundlessly on what had to be well oiled hinges. A leg entered the room and James' glance quickly found a familiar face as he looked up. The door was closed and a clicking sound was heard when she walked into the room in her stilettos and then stopped ten feet away from James, looking him up and down with a smile. James let out a low gasp as their eyes met. 

"You...?" he whispered hoarsely, his eyes wide as he glared at her questioningly. A little chuckle escaped her and she put her hands in her sides. She no longer wore the black pencil skirt and the white shirt - instead she wore a tight fitted red dress and her lips glistened with red lipstick in the light from the strip lamps. 

"What is this?" James asked, unable to hide his intimidation. The blonde pouted a little as she tilted her head and then sent him her brilliant smile. 

"Oh, don't be stupid," she said softly while curling a lock of her hair around her index finger, looking at him in a way that he couldn't quite decipher. Swallowing James looked towards the door, then back at her while his mind felt like it was spinning wildly with a thousand fragments of panicky thoughts. She giggled.

"You look nervous, my dear?" she said and took a step towards him. Furrowing his brows James looked at her in a mix of confusion and contempt. 

"What do you want?" he asked and pulled back slightly when she reached her hand out towards him. However his back only collided with the pipe and the wall, leaving him in the same spot. The blonde smiled and shook her head.

"Isn't it obvious?" she chuckled and took another step, leaving only a small gap between them. Again she reached out her hand and she now placed it on James' shoulder, lightly squeezing it through the fabric of his shirt. James immediately tried to shake off her hand but his efforts only made her tighten her grip more. Pressing him against the wall she stared at him, gaining eye contact while a mischievous expression spread on her face. Frozen James returned her stare. 

"Don't touch me," he said raspily. The air seemed to be electric as she glared at him. Then suddenly she let out a laugh, sounding quite surprised as if he was being unreasonably rude to her. She let go of him, but didn't back away. Instead she kept looking him in the eye with a little smile in the corner of her mouth. James felt utterly confused, but at the same time he was starting to realize that this apparently wasn't some sort of weird joke or game.

"What do you want?" he asked again, his thoughts constantly revolving around whether he should give in to the urge of wanting to kick her or if that would maybe be a fatal mistake. The blonde bit her lip as she leaned in a little, close enough for the scent of lavender to hit him with a surprising intensity. This time there was nothing soothing or pleasant about that scent and nothing at all about this woman resembled Anne-Marie. How could he have ever thought so? The blonde smiled at him and narrowed her eyes a little.

"Let's just say I think you'll fetch a pretty penny," she said and suppressed a childish giggle when she saw the expression on his face. James closed his eyes for a few seconds, now fighting the urge to scream something obscene and horribly stupid into her face. Exhaling deeply he raised his glance and looked back at her. 

"So this is a kidnapping," James said flatly and bit his lower lip, his thoughts fighting what seemed to be an epic battle inside his head. What would Anne-Marie think? How much would this maniac ask of her? And would she pay...? Could she pay? Would she question what he had been doing in a small inn in the outskirts of Québec alone with a male colleague? What would Michael think? James swallowed by all of these scary thoughts and he didn't want to think about what might happen to him if whatever ransom that was asked wasn't paid... 

"You could say that," the blonde said and James' chain of thought was abruptly broken. Looking at him in an almost maternal manner she reached out her hand and softly brushed some strands of hair away from his face. By instinct he turned his head away from the unwanted touch. This only resulted in her letting out an amused laughter.

"Oh là là...!" she said and chuckled. However she leaned in further, this time so close that James felt her breath against the side of his neck. 

"Listen very closely, James..." she whispered in his ear. Chills automatically ran down his spine by the tone of her voice which was suddenly cold and commanding. She placed a hand on his shoulder once more. This time he didn't dare to shake it off of him, instead he persuaded himself to tolerate the touch. 

"If you don't want to get hurt... I suggest you comply," she said lowly. James frowned and tried to calm himself while his glance darted around in the room, having a hard time tolerating her being this close to him. 

"Where am I?" he asked, not having any idea where in the world this was. It could be next to the inn for all he knew... Or on a deserted island somewhere. He didn't know. He didn't even know for how long he had been sleeping. The woman finally let go of his shoulder and stepped back a little when he didn't resist. 

"Don't worry about that, mon ami," she said and then winked at him as if this was all fun and games to her. Frustrated James pulled at the cuffs again, but of course they didn't budge - instead it just filled the room with a loud, metallic noise. He tried to suppress an angry groan but failed. He couldn't stand being helpless like this and not being able to move... and her mocking way of talking to him did not help either. 

"Look, just let me go, okay?!" he groaned, yanking at the cuffs, which immediately cut painfully into his wrists. 

"You want money, yeah? I can write you a fucking check right now, just let me go!" he yelled in a frustrated voice, finally giving up on the thought of magically breaking the cuffs by pulling at them. The blonde in front of him looked at him as she put her hands in her sides again. Clicking her tongue she shook her head in a disappointed manner, as if she was correcting a spoiled child's behavior. 

"Tsk tsk, James.... Now that wouldn't be any fun, now would it?" she merely said in an almost sad tone of voice. Wide-eyed James just stared at her incredulously. 

"It sure as hell would be more fun than THIS!" he hissed, pulling at the cuffs and pipe again. She narrowed her eyes at him a little. 

"Aww, you're not comfortable? I'm sorry..." she said softly and walked towards him. He instinctively tried to pull back but only pressed his back harder against the wall. The air felt like it was buzzing, like electric currents were bouncing off the walls. Desperately James fought the intense urge of wanting to kick her square in the gut. When she walked up to him they were standing so close that the tips of their noses almost touched. Locked in eye contact the silence in the room seemed deafening. Then suddenly with a quick movement she grabbed a hold of his hair and yanked his head backwards. James let out a surprised moan as the back of his head collided with the plank wall. Her other hand was around his neck, squeezing it slightly. She leaned in, her breath again hitting his skin in small gusts of warm, humid air. 

"You're not a very good listener, James...! I think I told you to comply!? Complying means to shut up and do as I say without bitching about it!" she snarled and twisted the handful of hair a little. James grimaced as he pulled at the cuffs, refusing to cower in front of her. 

"You're fucking mad...!" he hissed and gasped for air as she squeezed his throat harder. 

"And you're still not complying!" she said and yanked at his hair, smacking the back of his head into the wall again. James screwed his eyes shut as her other hand tightened its grip around his throat hard enough for his wind pipe to be squeezed shut. Panicky he tried to force his head to the side to get her to let go, not caring about the smarting pain in his scalp. But to no avail. 

"Are you going to comply?" she asked and yanked his hair again. As the back of his head hit the wall once more small stars formed in James vision and he realized that he was starting to suffocate. 

"Are you going to comply?!" she hissed once more. Pain shot through James' head as she yanked his hair again, this time more forcefully. Starting to feel dizzy James feverishly managed to nod. And she finally let go of him. Immediately he hoarsely gasped for air, breathing fast and heavily, sliding halfway down the wall. His knees felt weak and his lungs and head hurt. 

"Good," she said flatly and stepped back and away from him as he gathered himself. Coughing he managed to stand back up, holding on to the pipe behind his back. Incredulous he looked at her - and she was looking right back at him with an ice cold stare, almost as if she was challenging him to open his mouth once more. He didn't dare. Instead he clung to the pipe, closing his hands hard enough around it to hurt. The room fell completely silent and the blonde smiled at him, red lipstick glistening in the white light. 

"Let's get one thing straight," she said in a strict tone of voice but with a skew smile on her lips. 

"I call the shots around here. You do what I say when I say. Got it?" she asked bluntly, looking at him with a kind of fiery intensity in her gray eyes that made him feel even more uneasy. Without answering he just watched her as she grabbed the folding chair and placed it at a good distance from him, sitting herself down and facing him. Legs crossed she eyed him up and down with a little chuckle.

"Say... Do you think I'll get the money?" she suddenly asked in a curious voice, almost sounding like she was genuinely interested in his opinion. James swallowed, still feeling dizzy and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. He simply couldn't figure out how to deal with this situation, because her reactions seemed to be quite unpredictable and her sudden changes of mood made him beyond uncomfortable.

"I don't know," he just said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as he could. He didn't want to set off another unpleasant reaction. She snorted lightly and cocked her head.

"You don't know? You must have some idea," she continued, her eyes sparkling mischievously. James licked his lip nervously as he involuntarily glanced at the door again. It was still there and still closed and in his mind his thoughts were spinning around like whirlwinds of various impossible escape scenarios. Utterly impossible. He tightened his grip around the pipe, calming himself down a little. 

"I don't even know how much you're asking," he said and looked around in the room, scanning the numerous scattered objects lying here and there, trying to find a use for them if he should somehow manage to free his hands. If that was to happen he wanted to be prepared. 

"I want to keep it friendly so I only ask two million dollars," she smiled, curling her hair around her index finger. 

"Friendly...?" he asked in disbelief of her raging detachment from reality. Immediately she narrowed her eyes at him and James looked away, settling his glance on one of the rusty toolboxes. Exhaling raspily he bit his lower lip.

"Look, I can pull some strings and write you a check for that, so why don't we just..." he began, but she interrupted him briskly:

"I don't want your money," she said flatly. Dumbfounded James looked at her. Furrowing his brows he clenched the water pipe behind his back.

"But you want my wife's money?" he asked, completely perplexed. Immediately she started to laugh as she scooted down a little into the folding chair, placing her forearms on the arm rests, seemingly making herself more comfortable. 

"No," she giggled softly, studying him as he shook his head in confusion. His lips tried to form some words, but not knowing what to say he stayed silent.

"Of course I don't want your wife's money. Hell, I'm not even sure she could afford it," she said and leaned forwards a little, eyeing him up and down with an investigative glance. Then she winked at him. 

"Do you really think I'd ask two million from a housewife? No, stupid... I'm asking two million from your dear lover boy," she said in an amused voice and leaned back in the chair again as James' eyes widened in surprise. Not believing his own ears James fought   
to calm his mind down.

"What? You think no one notices?" she chuckled. James' thoughts were racing so fast that he felt out of breath. Was their romance really that transparent? Was it that obvious? What would Michael think? And Anne-Marie? Why wouldn't the maniac just take a check? What was going on?

"Why...?" he asked in a shaky voice but trailed off, completely dumbstruck. Another giggle escaped the woman as she leaned forwards a little, now suddenly serious.

"Because I can," she said coldly and suddenly got up from her sitting position with a swift, hard movement causing the folding chair to tip sideways and land with a clatter on the floor. After a few, quick steps in her stilettos she was standing only inches from him. James suppressed the surprised gasp that was trying to make its way out of his mouth and convinced himself not to look at her even though he wanted to. He had to play it smart and pretend that he was submissive - he had gathered that much. So he looked at the floor. When she grabbed his chin and lifted his head up he still avoided eye contact, looking down. 

"You disgust me..." the woman said lowly into his face. James felt her breath as small, quick gusts of warm air on his skin carrying with it the scent of the all familiar lavender. Her fingers tightened their grip a little. Suddenly James felt her lips against his own and he jumped slightly, only to be reminded of the pipe and wall he was leaning against. Not moving much she slowly brushed her lips against his, the tips of their noses touching. Without wanting to James felt how he was breathing faster and his stomach turned. But he didn't move. He stood still, completely frozen while trying to control his breathing. It felt like they were standing like this for a painfully long time but it was probably just for a few seconds. The silence seemed to be deafening and he was unsure if he would be able to keep tolerating this for much longer. But then the blonde smiled a little, loosening her grip on his chin and finally withdrew a little, looking at him intensely. Lifting up her thumb she smeared out the remaining lipstick she had left on his lips. He still didn't move. 

"Let's hope lover boy will pay up," she whispered, looking at him with a piercing glare, studying his face and downcast eyes. She then placed her hand on his upper chest, pressing him lightly against the pipe and the wall. Still James stayed unresponsive but when she started to slide her hand down his chest he had to focus hard not to react. Playing all the best tips and tricks of acting over and over in his head, he managed not to move an inch as her hand made its way down his abdomen and settled somewhere by his belt. He swallowed and tried to keep himself from letting her know that he was struggling. Even though he knew that she probably did know, he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of showing it. Controlling his breathing the best he could James suppressed a gasp when her hand suddenly grabbed a hold of him through the jeans, cupping him hard enough for it to be painful. A small hiss escaped him when he sucked in air once she tightened her grip a little. Leaning in she let out a low chuckle.

"He better if he wants back his little fuck toy...." she whispered in his ear, rubbing him roughly through the fabric of the jeans. James squeezed his eyes shut.

"Or maybe he's grown tired of it...?" she scoffed while lowering her head a little to see if she could catch his glance. James kept staring at the concrete floor, feverishly trying to hide his intimidation and the pain throbbing viciously in his groin. When she didn't succeed at getting him to look at her she straightened her back and finally let go of him. Involuntarily James let out a small gasp of relief. Still he carefully made sure to only look at the paint spattered floor.

"We'll know soon enough," she said and stepped back and away from him. Looking at her wrist watch she smacked her red lips.

"It's just about time, James," she said in something that resembled excited anticipation. She then walked over to one of the pieces of dusty furniture and picked something up from next to a chest of drawers. James caught a glimpse of an old, blue handkerchief. As she turned and walked towards him the clicking of her heels seemed to echo in his head and suddenly she had stuffed the old cloth into his mouth and tied its ends behind his head. A muffled cough escaped him as the taste of dust spread in his mouth. The blonde then turned and walked to the door, opening it silently - and shortly she glanced at him over her shoulder. 

"You behave now..." she said with a lifted index finger as if she was talking to a child. And with that she stepped out of the room and closed the door. James exhaled raggedly into the cloth as he finally lifted his head and looked at the small rectangular window in the plank door. He could see her looking down at the handle and he could hear her fiddling with some sort of locking mechanism on the other side.


	4. The Exchange

 

Michael was pacing back and forth, the sound of the asphalt under his shoes raw and piercing in the silence. He couldn't believe that this was happening and every two seconds his left and free hand would clench into a fist only to open again or scratch at the fabric of his coat or jeans restlessly. The suitcase in his right hand was heavy and he tightened his grip anxiously around its handle while his mind spun, his thoughts grasping helplessly at all and any possible theories of how to solve this peacefully.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had only been half past midnight when he had returned to the inn and had stuck his head into the restaurant first. Knowing James as well as he did he figured that he would be way too easily bored in his room all by himself - so the odds of him sticking around in the restaurant was high. But he hadn't been there, neither by the tables, in the bar or in the corner with all of the newspapers and books by the window in the gable. Slightly surprised Michael had returned to the lobby and ascended the stairs to the first floor, expecting to find James in his room, possibly asleep. The hallway had been extraordinarily quiet and not a soul had been in sight. Knocking on James' door to room twenty-one he had had to gather himself a bit. He realized how much of a jerk he had been earlier and he wanted to apologize... The guilt of having acted like a jealous idiot had been grinding at his brain during the entire meeting downtown and all he wanted right now was to say how sorry he was and that he would never act the way he had this night ever again. He just wanted to hug him, to tell him that it was alright to be hesitant and alright to be scared without having to deal with his jealousy on top of it. But when Michael knocked on his door there was no response. At first he figured that he had to be sleeping. All that red wine had probably taken its toll by now. But when the second and third knock didn't yield a response he started to get a little bit worried. His own keycard didn't work for room twenty-one, only for his own room, so he couldn't just sneak in and join James under the covers in case he was out cold from all that expensive wine, he thought. But when the fourth and fifth knock didn't wake him up Michael furrowed his brows and he automatically started to think that maybe James had walked away... from it all. From him. And his jealousy. Or maybe he was hurt in some way…? Paranoia spread throughout his system like a sudden whirlwind and he leaned his suddenly sweaty forehead against the door, pondering. Would he really just walk away without saying? Without any sort of notice? He knocked again, this time harder. By now he didn't care if the inn's entire clientele woke up from the racket. Placing a broad palm on the wooden door he clenched his jaw muscles, unsure of what to do. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly noticed a glimpse of white on the floor in front of room twenty-two. With a raised eyebrow he took two steps to the side and looked at the envelope which had been stuck almost completely into his room under the door. The white paper shone against the dark red rug with its yellow pattern and wide-eyed Michael tried to calm himself down. This was it. He had left. Closing his eyes for a few seconds to try and cope with his insides trying to make themselves turn into hard knots of fear and sorrow, he exhaled deeply and managed not to tear up as he bent down and picked up the envelope with trembling fingers. There was no name on it, but it was obviously directed at him considering its rather meticulous placement. Quickly Michael opened it, trying to prepare to have his heart ripped to bits. But when he pulled out the contents of the envelope he froze. It was James' keycard and a little piece of paper looking like a pink post-it had been stuck to it. Narrowing his eyes Michael looked at the small letters which obviously hadn't been written by James as he would have thought. It didn't resemble his handwriting in the slightest. Feeling his heart pick up speed Michael read the short sentences scribbled on the paper.

**  
"James for 2 million USD in unmarked bills.**  
 **Meet me by the entrance of park Château-D'Eau at 10:00pm tomorrow.**  
**Come alone or else. NO POLICE."**  

  
As the words sunk in Michael's entire body felt like it was going to collapse and at the same time every single one of the tiny hairs in the back of his neck stood up. Letting out a gasp he almost dropped the envelope and the keycard, not believing what was happening. Feverishly he looked around in the hallway, unable to hide his fear, while trying to suppress the urge to scream from the top of his lungs. Shaking visibly he wiped at the tear that had made its way down his cheek. He stuck the envelope and its contents in the inside pocket of his jacket and fumbled for his own keycard. He had to gather himself, he had to get out of the hallway. Finally he managed to clumsily open the door to room twenty-two and hurried inside, slamming the door harder than intended. He found himself leaning his back against the door and before he knew it he had slid down and was now sitting on the floor with his face buried in his hands, mind racing uncontrollably. He sat like that for a few minutes, heaving for air and with tears streaming down his face. Should he call someone? The police? No, of course he couldn't. He tried calling James, but it was in vain and it went straight to voicemail as painfully expected. Biting his nails while staring into the darkness of the room Michael tried to gather himself enough to start making the preparations he knew he had to. The seconds ticked by so slowly and shivering he found his suitcase under the bed and emptied its contents out onto the bed covers, clothes flying everywhere. The dawn was drawing near, but the thought of having to wait for so many hours tore him apart inside. He tried not to think about what could happen and he prayed that James wasn't hurt... he couldn't be hurt. This all was too surreal and too scary. With a mind spinning too fast for him to grab a hold of any cohesive thoughts he had found himself bent over the toilet, throwing up while desperately trying to fight off what felt like a panic attack. When his stomach was completely empty and cramps had started to spread in his abdomen he had supported himself against the sink and splashed some cold water in his face to try and clear his head. And once he had dried himself he had put on his finest suit and started preparing how he would walk into the bank and ask for a two million dollar withdrawal in the most calm and friendly way he could muster. And then the waiting had begun.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The asphalt crunched under the sole of his shoe again and he snapped back to the present when a cone of light flickered in the distance. Turning his head towards the light Michael clenched the handle of the suitcase again, his knuckles turning a milky white. His breath was forming a thin fog in the cold air and he followed the headlights of the car closely with his eyes, careful not to look too suspicious at the same time. The dark was thick and humid and Michael leaned against the wrought iron fence by the park's entrance, trying to look as casual as he could. The headlights were coming closer and as they did his heart rate picked up speed. Quickly Michael glanced at his wrist watch. It was almost 10pm. This was it. Chills ran down his spine as the car came closer, its headlights cutting through the darkness like laser beams. The street was completely deserted and only dimly lit by the orange light from some scattered lamp posts. Not noticing that it had started to rain Michael swallowed and turned his head towards the car when it started slowing down only a few feet away from him. In the dark he couldn't tell what color it was, but it was dark. Could be black, blue or even dark red for all he knew. It looked like a Cadillac. Not too old, but more like the ones from the eighties or nineties. It kind of looked like a Cadillac Sedan de Ville but he really couldn’t tell. Silently cursing at the dark and himself Michael narrowed his eyes and stared at the license plate. 708 FDC, it read. At the bottom of the plate it read "Je Me Souviens", and Michael recalled that most Québec cars seemed to read that. Based on his personal observations at least. His heart was thumping painfully in his chest when the car came to complete hold by the curb. The engine rumbled steadily and Michael tried to focus on who was sitting behind the wheel, but it was impossible in the dark and the rain. Hesitantly Michael looked around to check if there were any other cars or pedestrians nearby - but the place was completely deserted at this hour. Carefully he took a step towards the car, confused by the fact that the headlights didn't turn off and the engine was still humming. Finally a 'pop' sounded and Michael almost jumped in surprise when the car's door handle was pressed down and the door slowly opened. In the dark he could make out a broad figure and in the little light the street had to offer he stared at the man as he got out of the car. He didn't think he had seen him before. Glaring at Michael the man leaned against the side of the car, resting an arm casually on the door frame. He was of a rather thickset build with dark hair and dark eyes and with a slight beer belly bulging under a blue, woolen coat. His face was on the chubby side and he was newly shaven, Michael noticed and clenched the suitcase's handle again.

"Got the money?" the man suddenly asked in a confusingly casual voice. Michael's fingers felt like they were going to break at the joints due to the pressure he involuntarily applied to the handle of the suitcase. Nodding he turned a little in order for the man to see the suitcase. A slight smile spread on the chubby face.

"Let me see it," he said as he eyed Michael up and down. He didn't seem nervous or strained in any way. Like he had done this a hundred times before. Michael shuddered a little in the cold and blinked to get the rain out of his eyes.

"Where is James?" he asked as he gained eye contact with the man in front of him by the curb. Still leaning against the car, now dripping wet from the rain, the man shook his head.

"The money first. Always the money first," he said lowly like he was starting to lose his patience a little. Michael shifted his weight from one foot to another.

"How do I know he's alive?" he asked nervously.

"How do I know that's not a stack of bricks?" the man snapped back and nodded towards the suitcase. Swallowing Michael glared at him. As he felt his heart pound mercilessly in his chest he hesitantly took another step towards the man, lifting the suitcase slightly.

"I'm not ripping you off... Please tell me where he is," Michael said in a trembling voice, lifting his free hand into the air to clearly state that he was not out for trouble. The man let out an irritated sigh.

"Bullshit! If you want your little boyfriend back you better give me the money right now," he said sternly and reached out a hand towards the suitcase. He pierced Michael with his dark stare.

"It's do or die," he then added and a malicious smile spread on his thin lips. The air suddenly seemed to be electric. Michael blinked feverishly at the drops of rain running into his eyes mixing with tears of frustration. Carefully and reluctantly he lifted the suitcase and handed it to the man. He had no choice. The man eagerly grabbed a hold of it and flung it into the passenger seat of the car. He then turned back around and stared at Michael.

"Wasn't so hard, was it?" he said and smiled a skew smile. Michael raised his hands a little as he looked at the guy, who seemed to be amused by this whole situation. Controlling a tendency to suddenly hyperventilate Michael furrowed his brows.

"Aren't you going to check...?" he asked confusedly and almost interrupted himself when continuing directly into the next sentence.

"Where is James?" he asked, feeling the sensation of panic starting to spread slowly but steadily from somewhere deep within him. The man let out a long, airy sigh as he turned around and motioned to get back in the car.

"Hey...!" Michael burst out and took a step forwards towards the car. The man was already halfway inside.

"Fuck off..." the man mumbled. Instantly an almost numbing sensation of fear struck Michael like a lightning bolt. This wasn't an exchange, it was a setup. Feverishly he jumped forwards, grabbing a hold of the shoulder of man's blue coat, pulling him back out of the car.

"Where's James...!?" Michael yelled, but in the same second a fist hit him square in the face sending him tumbling backwards. The man had spun around and hit him with an agility and accuracy like that of a boxer - not something one would at all expect from a man of his stature. With a groan Michael stumbled backwards into the park's wrought iron fence with a loud noise, completely taken by surprise. Immediately he readied his fists, but before he had the chance to steady himself another blow hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Falling to his knees he gasped hoarsely, breaking the fall with his hands. As his palms scraped against the wet asphalt he could see the man moving out of the corner of his eye. He was getting back in the car.

"No...!" Michael coughed and fought to get back up. The humming of the car engine was turning into a rumble. As Michael managed to get back on his feet, he was ready to lunge for the man when he was about to close the door - but a distinctive, metallic click stopped him dead in his tracks. Looking at the man his gaze was automatically redirected to look straight down the barrel of a gun. Incredulously Michael shook his head.

"You promised..." he said and swallowed, feeling the tears starting to flow uncontrollably. The man let out a snort as he closed the car door, pointing the gun at him out of the window.

"I didn't promise you shit," he said raspily in a sly voice and narrowed his eyes at Michael, locking in intense eye contact:

"Go back to the inn and await instructions," he said shortly and the car started moving. Heart hammering and with wheezing, hyperventilating lungs Michael frowned, but he couldn't do anything but just stand there. Painfully unable to do a thing he felt his heart sink as the car was moving away from him. What did he mean 'await instructions'?

"Please...!!!" Michael desperately yelled from the top of his lungs. The man finally removed the gun from the window as hit the accelerator and sped down the street - and out of reach. Pebbles flew as the tires screeched against the wet asphalt. Unable to process what had just happened Michael pressed his bruised palms against his temples as he watched the car disappear when it turned a corner far down the dark street. Now the hammering of raindrops hitting the ground seemed almost deafening in the sudden silence by the park entrance. A choked noise escaped him and he sunk to his knees. He had failed. Where was James? He was supposed to save James...! And he had failed. James wasn't here with him as he was supposed to be! Finally Michael felt something inside him break and hard muscle contractions began to ripple through his abdomen as sobs started to make their way out, loud and uncontrollable. And he cried. He cried like he had never cried before. Trembling he reached inside his drenched jacket and pulled out his cell phone. Feeling completely lost he glared at the display lighting up his shaky fingers as they hovered above it. He stared at the numbers on the phone, not knowing what to do. Should he call 911? Or call for a cab to take him back to the inn as he had been told? A sob escaped him while his shaky fingers kept hovering above the phone, indecisive. The drumming of the rain seemed to intensify and Michael shut his eyes to try and gather himself. His irregular breathing sent small clouds of gray fog into the cold air and as his mind was spinning he convinced himself to open his eyes again, almost starting to feel dizzy. The wet night around him seemed to darken even more, shrinking and growing denser around him like it was trying to suffocate him. He let out a quiet whimper. His cold fingers then dialed the number for the cab service.

 


	5. Dollars and Spring Water

 

Metallic, rattling sounds pierced the silence in the small room and James turned his head to look at the little, rectangular window to his right. It was her. Automatically a small chill ran through him. He had been sitting on the cold concrete floor for what felt like an eternity, but now he was fighting to get back up into a standing position. The fact that his hands were cuffed to the pipe behind him didn't exactly make this an easy task. Just as he managed to stand up straight the door opened on the soundless hinges and the blonde woman came into view. She was carrying something, but James didn't take notice. Instead he was busy preparing himself for whatever might come next.

"Right where I left you," she smirked as she walked towards him. They gained eye contact for a brief moment and she sent him a brilliant smile before walking up to him. The stilettos clicked against the floor as she quickly covered the distance between them. Suddenly she reached out her free hand towards his face and James automatically flinched slightly. This only produced a little chuckle from the blonde who grabbed a hold of the scarf in his mouth. With a swift movement she removed the dusty gag by pulling at it and forcing it down over his chin. Licking his dry lips James hurried to look at the floor again, taking on the submissive role which he knew was the least likely to provoke her. She then lifted up the thing she was carrying.

"What do you think this is?" she asked in an amused voice. James lifted his glance from the floor a little and looked at the suitcase in her hand. It was a rather big, brown leather suitcase with beige stitching. It looked all too familiar. Narrowing his eyes a little his glance explored it. And he let out a surprised gasp.

"It's... That's Michael's suitcase..." he managed to say in a trembling voice and without even noticing he looked at her, baffled. She returned his stare and smiled broadly.

"It's two million dollars, that's what it is!" she grinned and lifted up the suitcase in both hands, popping it open. Flabbergasted James stared down at the many bill bundles stacked neatly in rows. Out of breath he looked back up at her.

"Where's... Why... What did you do?" he asked, feeling an icy chill run down his spine and goose bumps forming on every inch of his skin. The woman shrugged and closed the suitcase, putting it down on the floor. She then looked back at him with a skew smile on her face.

"I got rich," she laughed and winked at him. James felt his eyes well up slightly and he stared at her.

"What did you do to Michael...?" he asked in a hoarse voice which was now fuming with both fear and anger. Breathing unevenly and being unable to keep his glance fixed on the floor James glared at the blonde, demanding an answer. She tilted her head a little as she watched him and studied his reaction. Silence fell. Frustrated James pulled hard at his restraints, sending a loud metallic noise through the room.

"What did you do...!?" he yelled at her, completely unable to keep calm and submissive as he had promised himself to do. A snort escaped the woman and she narrowed her eyes at him, a dark expression glinting in her gray eyes. At this point James didn't care.

"I secured my future. Right now I'm not so sure about yours," she said lowly while staring at him with a piercing glare. Frustrated that she wasn't answering his question James pulled so hard at the cuffs that their metal edge cut into his wrists. A trickle of blood started to flow down his skin without him even registering it. He didn't pay much attention to her threat either - instead he groaned angrily when she grabbed a hold of his chin roughly and slammed the back of his head into the wall again. Stars formed in his vision for a few seconds and the soreness from last time came back three fold. Gasping lightly he focused on sharpening his vision which had gone a little blurry from the impact with the wooden wall.

"Did you hurt him?" James asked hoarsely, ignoring her long, red fingernails digging into his skin. The blonde didn't answer but merely placed her thumb on his lips, seemingly pre-occupied with analyzing the sensation of the soft skin while silently urging him to keep quiet.

"Maybe," she then whispered, still tracing her thumb across his lower lip. She was looking at him in a weird way, her eyes alert and shimmering in the light from the strip lamps in the ceiling. Shaking his head James tried to get her to let go of his chin, but she dug her nails into his skin stubbornly and resolutely.

"Did you kill him...?" James managed to ask, blinking at the tears that were emerging in his eyes. His insides felt like icy knots of fear and they only tightened when the woman let out an indifferent chuckle. Wide-eyed James stared at her, not able to decipher her facial expression or her amused outburst. Suddenly she cupped his face with both of her hands, her sharp nails finally leaving his smarting skin. Looking at him in an almost soft manner she smiled.

"What does it matter, Jamesy? You're mine now," she said in her silky voice and squeezed his cheeks lightly. Furrowing his brows in disbelief James glared at her as she trailed her fingers down the side of his neck. With a smile she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, inhaling his scent while her index finger slowly started circling his nipple through the fabric of his T-shirt. Disgusted James immediately twisted his body to the side as much as the cuffs would allow, forcing her to lift her head from his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed, completely appalled by her deranged behavior. The woman immediately reached for him and grabbed a hold of the neck of his T-shirt, pulling him out from the wall as far as possible. The metallic noise from the cuffs hitting the water pipe rung out into the room and mixed with her angry voice.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that!" she yelled and raised her hand in the air.

"I fucking own you!" she roared before hitting James across the face with a flat hand. A small grunt escaped him as the impact forced his head to the side. Wide-eyed he turned his head back to look at her. Locked in eye contact he noticed that the dark look in her eyes was returning but this time there was a predatory feel to it. James shuddered a little. By now he had realized that it was impossible to reason with his captor, she was completely out of her mind. And the way she was approaching him with that look in her eyes made him beyond uncomfortable. Not knowing what to say James pressed his back against the water pipe when she let go of his T-shirt.

"You can't keep me here," he then said lowly as she moved a little closer. When she leaned towards him he closed his fingers around the water pipe tightly and was finally able to convince himself to redirect his glance to the floor.

"Well, of course not," she whispered and placed her hands on his shoulders in a soft, almost maternal manner. James' mind was spinning. What did she want? And was Michael alright? He desperately needed some answers, but she didn't seem to be willing to give him any. A low chuckle escaped her and she started massaging his shoulders.

"We have enough money to go anywhere we want now, Jamesy..." she said with a smile and rubbed a little harder.

"God, you're tensed up, darling," she said under her breath and continued her circular massaging of his shoulders and upper arms. She looked at him with something which resembled compassion in her gray eyes.

"We...?" James heard himself say in confusion and in the same moment her hands started to slide down his upper chest.

"So tense... But I know what you need," she whispered and she suddenly lifted up his t-shirt a little, allowing her hands to slip up under it. The sensation of her fingers on his bare skin made him cringe, but he convinced himself to tolerate the unwanted touch. He exhaled sharply when she pinched his nipples a little and a chuckle immediately escaped her. Her hands then settled by his belt, her index fingers sliding slowly along the leather, tickling the skin below his belly button. James bit his lip, his thoughts racing in a panic to figure out a way to get her to stop touching him. Suddenly her right hand slid further down and she started to rub his groin in slow, sensual circles.

"Yes, I know just what you need..." she said in an amorous tone of voice, increasing the pressure of her massage. James immediately squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can I please have some water??" he burst out hoarsely. Surprised she stopped her massage and looked at him curiously, tilting her head a little. Her hand was still resting on top of the zipper in his jeans. She raised her eyebrow. James focused on keeping his glance glued to the paint splattered floor, unable to see that a smile spread on her face.

"Why, yes, you can. You must be thirsty," she then said and immediately her hands withdrew and she backed away a little. Blinking in surprise James lifted his glance slightly when she turned around and walked for the door. Bewildered he watched her walk away. Casually she exited the room and closed the door, but this time she didn't lock it from the outside like she had earlier. James heard the clicking of heels fade into silence. Perplexed and dumbstruck by her reaction he just stood there, unable to figure out how this woman's mind was working. He had no clue what set her off and what didn't. This had been almost too easy and it made him nervous. He couldn't figure her out. For the last hours he had been desperately trying to find some sort of pattern to her behavior in order to get just a slight psychological advantage to use. But it felt like he was only banging his head against a brick wall. Licking his dry lips he looked around once more, trying to maybe spot something of potential use that he might have missed earlier. But the scenario was the same. Old, broken furniture, mattresses, tool boxes, dusty blankets and cob webs. And all of it out of reach anyway. James exhaled deeply, gathering himself the best he could while trying to get his mouth to produce just a tiny amount of saliva. His tongue felt like it was sticking to the roof of his mouth. He had never been this thirsty before. The sound of stilettos clicking reached his ears and he immediately turned his glance back towards the door. The blonde silently entered the room and closed the door behind her. James suddenly found himself glaring longingly at a transparent bottle of spring water in her hand as she approached him, a bright smile covering her red lips. She stopped in front of him and lifted up the bottle slightly only to tilt it back and forth in front of his face teasingly. Annoyed with himself he discovered that he was actually following the bottles' movements with his eyes. He quickly redirected his glance to the floor again.

"You poor thing..." the woman said in a soft voice. She sounded like she truly felt bad for him at that moment.

"I'll give you some water. But you're not getting it for free," she then said as she stuck her hand in a small pocket in the tight fitted pencil dress. James frowned when she pulled out a tiny plastic bag with something inside it. Quickly she put down the water bottle and emptied the contents of the bag into her open hand. James narrowed his eyes and looked at the little, round object as she lifted her hand up slightly. It looked like a pill. Speechless he looked at her shortly before casting down his glance.

"What is that?" he asked fearfully, closing his hands around the water pipe once more. The blonde chuckled in a cheerful manner as she dropped the empty plastic bag on the ground when she picked the water bottle back up.

"That's your water ticket," she said and started to screw the cap off the water bottle.

"You take the pill and you get the whole bottle," she smiled as she walked towards him. Immediately James turned his head to the side.

"No," he said lowly, ignoring her letting out an irritated sigh. For a few moments there was silence.

"Well, you can do it willingly or unwillingly, I don't care," she then said. James kept his head turned and didn't say a word. He knew that he needed the water. As a matter of fact he needed it a lot. He almost trembled when he heard her screwing off the plastic cap completely. He longed for that water, every fiber in his body was screaming for it. But he couldn't take her so-called deal. And then there was a splashing sound. James snapped his head back and watched wide-eyed as she was pouring some of the water out onto the floor in front of him.

"Whoops," she said coldly. James just stared at her in bewilderment. He looked down at the concrete floor which had turned a dark gray color in several rather big, wet blotches. As his frustration grew he couldn't get himself to keep his glance there - instead he looked directly at her. His heart was thumping painfully hard in his chest. All he could think of was the water. The water disappearing right in front of him. It was so close, it would have been right within reach if it wasn't for the cuffs. He exhaled hoarsely as he stared at her. But she just sent him a broad, theatrical smile and tilted the bottle some more. James' lips formed the word 'no', but no sound came out. And several splashes of water turned the floor an even darker gray, soaking his sneakers. "Half a bottle left," she taunted and narrowed her eyes maliciously at him. James heard himself let out a desperate groan as he pulled at his restraints.

"Fuck you...!" he spat, immediately regretting it. In an instant her eyes darkened as she glared back at him. Slowly she put the bottle back on the floor, throwing the cap to the side carelessly and stuck her hand in her other pocket. When she approached him her facial expression was stern and cold which sent shivers throughout his body. She looked surprisingly composed and he didn't like it one bit. Her right hand with the pill in it was closed into a fist and the other started to pull something out of her dress pocket.

"Unwillingly it is then," she merely said in the kind of impatient but overbearing voice you would normally hear a parent use when dealing with a misbehaving child. As she pulled the shiny object out of her pocket she closed the distance between them and James immediately looked at the thing in her hand. The sharp light from the strip lamps reflected in the knife's blade, causing small dots of light to dance across the plank walls.

"Jesus christ...!?" James burst out, pressing his back panicky against the pipe and wall like he could somehow miraculously pull away from her further. But the wall wasn't budging and she was quickly standing only inches from him, threateningly waving the knife back and forth in front of his face. Breathless James followed the knife with his glance, completely frozen. Slowly she leaned towards him a bit.

"Do you want me to cut you...?" she asked in a crude tone of voice which made his stomach turn. He had no doubt that she actually meant it. The knife was coming closer to his face and James sucked in air while he still tried backing away - but without moving an inch.

"No... No, I don't want you to cut me, I..." he stammered, but she interrupted:

"It would be a shame to cut up such a pretty face..." she whispered to herself and James shut his eyes when the cold steel blade touched his cheek lightly. He couldn't help but let out a raspy gasp when the metal made contact with his almost feverishly warm skin and he fought to stand completely still. Then the blade started to softly travel down the side of his face.

"Don't..." James whispered raggedly, feeling the sharpness of the blade's edge lightly cutting the stubble on his cheek and chin.

"Are you going to take the pill?" he heard the woman's voice ask. It was almost impossible for him to gather any cohesive and clear thoughts through the haze of panic which was quickly spreading throughout his system and he hesitated for a second. Immediately she noticed this and pressed the blade resolutely against the skin right below his jaw line, just hard enough to break the skin and draw blood. A hiss escaped James.

"Yes...! Yes, I'll do it...!!" he managed to gasp. Within seconds he felt fingers aggressively pressing something in between his lips. Unfortunately the knife hadn't moved from its threatening position by his jaw which meant that James had no choice but to let her shove the pill into his mouth. Its bitter taste spread on his dry tongue and he uttered a choked sound when the pressure from the blade was increased slightly.

"Swallow," she commanded. With his eyes screwed shut James had to comply and he swallowed the best he could. It took three attempts before he succeeded, his mouth and throat being so dry that even this simple task demanded extra effort. Finally the pressure from the knife decreased a little.

"Open your mouth," she said flatly and he felt how the knife was replaced by a hand lifting his chin upwards a little. He did as he was told and she thoroughly made sure that he wasn't hiding the pill anywhere in his mouth, her fingers carefully examining him. He thought of biting her, but he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. Instead he couldn't stop thinking about what was in that pill. Would it knock him out? Make him sick? The fact that he didn't know scared him and he was beginning to realize that this probably wasn't going to end well. He missed Michael and he feared for him. Angry and frustrated James felt how tears were trying to make their way out from the corners of his eyes. He then realized that the woman had let go of him and he opened his eyes carefully. This time he automatically looked at the floor.

"Well, you haven't deserved it. But I think you better have some anyway," she suddenly said as she grabbed the water bottle and put it to his lips. Surprised James almost choked when the cold water hit the back of his throat, but he was quickly gulping it down in big mouthfuls. It tasted fantastic and he concentrated on trying not to spill any of it. Greedily he drank and the bottle was empty all too fast. Now gasping for air he closed his eyes when she removed the bottle, savoring the feeling.

"Better than whisky, huh?" she said with a smile and suddenly placed a small kiss on his mouth. James hardly registered it as he let out a small gasp, feeling rejuvenated but trembling with the shock from being held at knife point at the same time.

"What did you give me?" he asked carefully and licked his lips, making sure to catch every single drop of excess water. The blonde smiled and looked at her wrist watch.

"You'll know soon enough," she purred while caressing his cheek softly. There was a shimmer in her eyes that James couldn't interpret and he swallowed nervously as she placed a hand on his chest.

"As I said... I know just what you need," she whispered.

 

 


	6. Preparation

 

Confusion mixed with fear rippled through James as her hand was resting on his upper chest and she was looking at him with a sort of skew smile - like she knew something he didn't. Which indeed was the case. He still didn't know if Michael was okay. He didn't know what was in the pill he had been forced to swallow. He didn't even know why he was still here. Where ever here was. He knew nothing because she wasn't telling him anything or answering any of his questions. It scared him senseless to be completely in the dark like this and she probably knew that, using it to her advantage. She might be insane but she wasn't stupid. Clenching the water pipe in frustration he dared to look at her shortly:

"What do you want from me...?" he asked. Her hand was still resting on his chest and she brushed a loose strand of her blonde hair back behind her ear while looking at him with a mischievous expression on her face. Biting her lip she leaned in ever so slightly, her warm breath hitting his skin. As she started trailing her fingers down his chest she let out a giggle.

"Oh, James... Not the clever one, are you?" she whispered with a smile. He shut his eyes and swallowed, trying to push away the thoughts pressing and fighting to enlighten him on her intentions. He didn't want to think about it even though he was pretty sure he knew. It was all too surreal. When her hands settled by his belt he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"You won't succeed," he said flatly. Her eyes widened by his sudden outburst and the certainty in his voice. But never the less her hands started to caress him through the fabric of his jeans, playing with the zipper.

"Oh, really?" she snapped back with a chuckle.

"Well, that's what the pill was for, dear," she added and moved even closer, grabbing a hold of the zipper while leaning in further. Her free hand grabbed his chin and squeezed it gently.

"You need a little something to warm up to me, I know that... After all we only just met," she smiled and leaned in to kiss him. James immediately jerked his head to the side.

"Don't fucking touch me...!" he spat, and she pulled back a little.

"Oh, not ready yet I see... You will be soon, don't worry, darling," she said softly and winked at him playfully. James was shaking his head slowly while looking at her.

"You're out of your mind," he said, completely shocked. It seemed like this was all some sort of game to her. She only snorted slightly at his remark before she started to open his zipper. He was pressing his back painfully against the water pipe, trying to move away, but of course the pipe and wall didn't budge no matter how hard he pushed at it. She chuckled. He wanted to kick her but he knew that it would only make matters worse. His zipper was now completely open, exposing his black briefs, and she raised her glance to look at him, sending him an intense glare. James was fighting not to kick out and at the same time it felt like a hundred protesting words and profanities were trying to make their way out of his mouth. But he kept silent, overwhelmed with the situation and her fingers caressing the black cotton of his briefs.

"Oh yeah...?" she teased and trailed a long, red-painted nail down the bulge in the briefs, licking her lips as she went. She then suddenly cupped his balls with her hand, squeezing hard enough for him to let out a surprised groan at the sudden pain. He glared at her. For a few seconds they were locked in intense eye contact while a power struggle seemed to take place. James' breath hitched as she squeezed a little harder, but he kept staring at her.

"Yeah," he said matter-of-factly. Her eyes immediately narrowed. With a snarl she grabbed a hold of his belt and opened it with skilled fingers at an impressive speed. James tried to turn, but she pulled hard at the waistband of his jeans, causing the button above the open zipper to snap off and bounce across the concrete floor. Within a second or two she had pulled down both his jeans and the briefs, exposing him.

"Fucking hell...!!?" James spat, pulling at the cuffs loudly. The blonde cupped his balls again and he froze.

"Behave, James...." she purred while sending him a crooked smile, her face all too close to his. At the same moment she started to slowly knead his soft cock. He immediately let out a surprised hiss and tried turning again, but he wasn't moving more than a few inches.

"Aww, honey, what's the matter?" she said and let out a chuckle. While massaging his cock and balls she leaned in a little further. He turned his face away.

"Is it because I'm a woman? Mm? You want a man touching you like this, don't you?" she whispered in his ear in a low voice dripping with contempt.

"A man like Michael, right? But guess what..." she said as she started stroking him.

"You'll never see him again. And you're gonna warm up to me. Just you wait and see," she smirked and moved closer still, slipping her free hand up under his shirt. James let out a frustrated grunt. He wanted to yell, but it was like the words he thought of saying stumbled on each other and in the end none of them made it out of his mouth. Instead a groan escaped him when she bit down on his ear lobe. Her warm breath and the sensation of her wet tongue on his skin made him cringe and he tried pushing her away with his shoulder.

"Fuck off...!" he yelled desperately and managed to nudge her with his shoulder, forcing her to take a step backwards. For a split second she looked at him with true surprise in her eyes. Then the predatory look returned and she pursed her lips.

"That was a dumb move, darling," she said flatly. Piercing him with her glance she walked over to one of the old pieces of furniture and picked up something from behind it. James swallowed and followed her with his eyes, monitoring her every move and trying to decipher what would come next. She had something in her hand and when she walked closer to him he saw that it was a cell phone.     

"You leave me no choice," she said in a strict tone of voice like that of a teacher disappointed in a pupil. James frowned as she dialed a number and sent him a stern look. She then returned her attention to the phone and James thought he heard a voice on the other end of the line. She let out a sigh.

"Il ne coopère pas et je pouvais utiliser un peu d’aide," she said and put her hand in her side, seemingly listening to the voice on the phone. James clenched the water pipe with his fingers, not understanding a word of what she was saying. He pulled at the cuffs, trying to wriggle his hands out of them once more. The noise he made caused her to immediately turn towards him with an angry look on her face.

"Obtenir ton cul ici," she said into the phone and hung up. James froze by the look she sent him, but his fingers kept fidgeting behind his back like he could magically work the lock open this way. She sent him a smirk. For a moment she just stood there smiling at him with her hands in her sides looking like she was expecting him to speak. But he didn't say a word, instead his mind was racing in a panicky haze to figure out what was going on and how he was going to get himself out of this. She clicked her tongue and looked at her wristwatch.

"Any minute now," she said and winked at him. James furrowed his brows. His heart was pounding hard and fast in his chest and he was covered in a thin sheet of sweat even though the room was cool. For some reason he couldn't determine if his hammering pulse was actually a product of the situation he was in or something else... He felt strange in a way he couldn't put his finger on. Suddenly he thought he heard something and turned his head towards the door. It sounded like footsteps. James' lips automatically parted to yell for help by the thought of someone coming this way but the look on the blonde's face told him that she was expecting this. He hesitated. The door handle moved. His pulse picked up speed when the door started to open and the word 'help' seemed to be stuck in his throat... He had a bad feeling about this and the whole atmosphere in the room was eerie and electric at the same time. He saw a shadow behind the small glass window and the door swung open on its soundless hinges. James' breath hitched when a man stepped into the room, sending him a short, careless glance before his eyes settled on the woman. Frozen in confusion James looked at the man as he walked up to the woman with a few, casual strides. He wasn't sure if he had seen this man before but still he looked oddly familiar. He had dark hair and dark eyes and he was of a thickset build - more on the chubby side really - with a slight beer belly hiding behind a brown sweater. James tried to remember where he thought he had seen him, but his mind was blank. The two of them were exchanging a few words in French in front of him almost as if he wasn't even there. He didn't understand any of it and it scared him out of his mind. He didn't even dare to fidget with the cuffs and risk making a noise. The blonde then took something from her pocket and gave it to the man, but he couldn't see what it was. Suddenly the conversation seemed to be over and the man nodded before turning his head to look at James. His dark eyes were looking him up and down for a few seconds and James felt sick to his stomach by the fact that he was naked from the waist down. The man's glance seemed to examine his body without any emotion and he felt utterly exposed. Then he turned his head away from James and looked at the woman.

"Pas de problème," he said in a flat tone of voice and walked over to the scattered pieces of broken furniture. Grabbing a hold of the rusty frame of an army bed he pulled it loudly across the concrete floor, placing it in the middle of the room with a swift movement. He then walked back and picked up one of the mattresses from the pile and placed it on top of the army bed. While James was watching he realized that he was almost hyperventilating, fear numbing his mind to the point where he wasn't thinking straight on any level. The man turned and walked towards him casually and immediately James felt himself press his back against the pipe. Stopping only a few inches from him, the man placed a flat hand on the wall right next to his head, glaring at him with a hard expression on his face. James felt himself involuntarily cower slightly when he timidly looked up to meet the man's eyes.

"Well, well, well..." the man murmured, leaning down a little. His breath hit James' face and he cringed, but he managed to keep eye contact even though he was terrified. He thought he recognized the voice. A vague flood of blurry images suddenly invaded his mind and he saw flashes of red leather and he remembered the smell of gasoline. It had to be the driver of the car he had fallen asleep in. James' eyes widened.

"Listen here, you little shit. If you try to fight me you will regret it..." the man said in a low voice while moving his hand from the wall to James' throat. When his fingers closed around his neck James couldn't help but let out a small grunt and shuffle his feet nervously.

"So I suggest you don't," the man said, now glaring at James with a dark glint in his eyes that sent shivers down his spine. Not daring to move James watched as the man let go of his throat and held something up in front of his face - a small key. It had to be the keys to the cuffs, James thought, and immediately a panicky sensation of hope mixed with desperation and fear flashed through him. Before he had the time to think the man had grabbed a hold of his wrists by the water pipe and had stuck the key in one of the locks. A clicking sound came and James' arms were suddenly freed and forcefully pulled at, sending a shockwave of soreness rushing from his fingertips to his shoulders and back again. His arms had been immobilized for so long that the joints hurt by this sudden movement and he let out a hiss when he was pulled out from the wall and spun around, his arms suddenly twisted behind his back.

"What are you doing??" he managed to spit out as the man was pushing him towards the center of the room. The blonde stepped aside with an elegant movement, allowing them to pass her. No one answered his question. Droplets of sweat had begun to make their way down James' face and desperately he tried to break free. Immediately the grip on his arms tightened and it felt like his shoulders were about to be dislocated. James let out a pained groan and he felt the man grabbing a hold of his hair, pulling his head back forcefully.

"What did I tell you?!" he snarled into James' ear, ignoring his squirming to try and ease the pain from the awkward angle his shoulders were in. The pull on his hair increased and James let out a frustrated yelp.

"Oh, I'm sorry, does that hurt?" the man said sarcastically and twisted the handful of hair, sending a smarting pain into James' scalp. Even though he tried not to react, James couldn't help but utter a small groan which only resulted in the man letting out an indifferent grin.

"Is that a yes?" he laughed and pushed James further towards the middle of the room where the army bed was standing. Gasping for air James tried to dig his heels into the ground to stop the man from pushing him, but this merely caused his sneakers to scoot helplessly across the concrete.

"Let go of me..!" James hissed desperately when he realized that they were now standing next to the army bed. The blonde was standing on the opposite side of the bed and she motioned towards it with her hand, looking at him with a weird gleam in her eye.

"Why don't we make you comfortable, James..." she said in her silky voice and smacked her red lips. It sounded like she was talking to herself, a dreamy expression on her face. Bewildered James stared at her and at the same moment he felt the man finally letting go of his hair. With that James was suddenly turned around and forcefully shoved backwards on to the bed. He hit the thin, stained mattress with a loud, metallic screech. At the same moment he tried to get back up the man was on top of him, straddling him while pinning his wrists down. Without any hesitation James kneed him in the back as hard as he could, causing him to tumble forwards with a loud and angry roar. He almost fell off the bed, but managed to cling on to it by grabbing the metal bars in the headboard. During the few seconds where James' hands were free he took a swing at the man, landing a solid punch to his jaw while still being trapped under his body. With a growl the man was forced sideways by the force of the blow and James immediately took the opportunity to try and wrestle free from under him. He managed to wriggle his body out from under the man and all of a sudden he found himself on the cold concrete floor, staring at a pair of red stilettos. For a few split seconds he was just lying there on his stomach, staring at the high heels in front of his face - then reality seemed to return to its normal speed and he looked up at the blonde. Her facial expression was not at all a pleased one. Heaving for air James backed away while trying to get back on his feet at the same time. On the other side of the army bed the man was also getting back up, cursing under his breath. Crashing into an old chest of drawers behind him, James finally got up, supporting his hands on the dusty piece of oak furniture. He then realized that he was on the wrong side of the bed which was blocking the path to the door along with the blonde and her goon who was now back on his feet. Panicky James' glance darted around and he remembered the old garden equipment scattered all around - quickly he grabbed a hold of the closest and best thing he could find and pointed it feverishly at his two captors.

"Get away from me!!" he yelled. The man cocked an eyebrow.

"You think you can hurt me with that, do you?" he scoffed and let out a grin when his gaze fixed on the leaf rake in James' hands. Cursing himself in his mind James knew that the odds were against him but it had been the only thing in reach. Swallowing he glared at the man.

"Let me out!" he said in the most stern voice he could muster but it came out sounding weak and insecure. This resulted in laughter from both of his kidnappers. The blonde shook her head while sending him a broad smile.

"Oh, James, you're being silly," she chuckled and took a step towards him. Immediately James tensed up and his grip around the rake's shaft tightened as he lifted it slightly upwards. 

"Put that down and come here," the blonde said, this time less amused. James shook his head and then redirected his attention to the man who was now advancing on him, walking around the army bed and towards him.

"Put it down or you'll be in deep shit," the man said angrily and spread out his arms a little while he kept moving towards James. Even though he could hear his own fast and raspy breathing James convinced himself to shake his head. He was cornered and outnumbered but he was not going to go down without a fight. He tightened his grip on the rake and glared at the goon.

"Aren't I already?" he spat, his voice full of spite. The man lashed out at him instantly, trying to grab a hold of the rake, but James managed to hit him in the side with it instead. When the rather thick shaft collided with his ribs he let out a grunt and froze for a second.

"Oh, you don't know the half of it!" he then snarled and started moving towards James again, his arms raised up and to the sides, blocking his path. Desperate James took another swing at him but this time the opponent grabbed a hold of the shaft in mid-air. With a fast movement the rake was yanked out of James' hands and landed somewhere by the wall. The man quickly advanced and swung at James, who tried to back away but only bumped into the chest of drawers. Pain exploded inside his skull when the man's knuckles collided with his eyebrow, sending him tumbling to the ground with a groan. The room suddenly seemed to spin. Finding himself lying on the paint splattered floor, desperately trying to get his eyes to focus, James felt someone grab his collar and forcefully pull him up from the ground. At that moment he wasn't sure what was up and what was down. Everything was spinning and his head was thumping with a sharp pain flickering inside his skull, threatening to knock him out. Holding on to consciousness - and the hands pulling him upwards - James felt himself being dragged a few feet across the floor only to fall back down on what had to be the army bed. Small, bright stars were sailing back and forth in his field of vision and he tried to free his hands which were somewhere above his head. Something cold touched his wrists and James realized that he was being cuffed to the headboard of the army bed, the man towering above him, straddling him once more. What had to be curse words in French were leaving the man's lips along with a thin spray of saliva as he sat there on top of James, pinning him down. Kicking and squirming the best he could James tried to prevent the man from trapping his hands above his head, but the unmistakable clicking of the handcuffs pierced the air, letting him know that he had failed to break free. His hands were fixed. Heaving for air James squinted at the bright light from the strip lamps when the man moved himself further down. Pain was immediately echoing inside his head from the light and he gasped. He then felt that his shoes were being pulled off and his ankles were somehow fixed to the end of the bed. The sensation on his skin made him think of hemp rope. Finally the weight on top of him lifted and James took a deep breath. Something red entered the corner of his field of vision and carefully James turned his head slightly to the side only to find the blonde woman looking down on him.

"Nice try," she said stiffly and sat herself down next to James, placing a flat hand on his naked, upper thigh. A shiver ran through James by the touch.

"Aww, honey, you're bleeding..." she said and leaned over, cupping his face with both of her hands. James realized that something was trickling down his temple and the side of his neck, creating a wet blotch on the mattress.

"Hopefully you learned your lesson," she said in a lecturing manner and then giggled, sliding her hands down his neck and onto his upper chest. James still felt dizzy from the blow and he came to the conclusion that he had a split eyebrow. It stung viciously and with a small groan he looked up at the blonde. She merely smiled at him while her hands slid further down his torso, getting closer and closer to his naked groin. James swallowed.

"Get your hands off of me," he said in a voice trembling with fearful spite. A snort came.

"No," the blonde huffed and waved at the man standing behind her, turning to look at him shortly.

"You can leave now," she said and nodded towards the door. Not daring to look away from the blonde, James heard him starting to walk. The sound of his footsteps grew more vague the further away he moved. Then the sound of the handle on the door came. Muffled footsteps and then silence. Piercing silence. Still squinting a little at the sharp light James looked at the blonde. She was biting her lower lip and her hands started to move again, downwards.

"Don't...!" he began, but the blonde interrupted him.

"Hush, James..." she said and now her fingertips reached the end of his T-shirt and slid across the skin just below his belly button, tracing their way through the thickening hair growth towards his crotch. James pulled at his restraints.

"Get your fucking hands off me!" he yelled, but she took no notice. Instead her fingers found his cock and he let out an involuntary pant when she started to stroke him. Shivering and covered in sweat James shook his head in protest - but immediately stopped when the pain inside his skull returned from the movement.

"Fuck," he whispered furiously under his breath and closed his fingers around the chain that connected the cuffs between the bars of the headboard. The sensation of her fingers stroking and kneading his flaccid cock was intolerable, it felt like small electric pulses ran through him every time she moved her fingers. His breath hitched and he let out a frustrated grunt.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," her voice said above him and her hand started to move a bit faster and harder. A gasp escaped James when the sensation of electric pulses grew stronger and his hips suddenly bucked. In bewilderment he felt himself growing a little hard in her hand.

"That's it..." she coaxed, licking her red lips while sending him an amorous look. James automatically shook his head in shock and immediately let out a moan of pain when the headache returned once more. She grinned. Frustrated he pulled repeatedly and violently at the cuffs, digging their metal edge into his skin, purposely trying to distract himself. He couldn't be reacting this way to her touch. He just couldn't. Gasping he closed his eyes and tried to control himself. But his skin felt like it was somehow hypersensitive and when she spat into her hand and covered his cock in saliva he felt himself growing fully erect. In horror he glanced down at himself, disbelief painted on his face.

"I told you you'd warm up to me," the woman said with a skew smile. James' lips quivered slightly and he squeezed his eyes shut when she started stroking him harder but slower at the same time. He realized that he was breathing in the air in fast and shallow gulps, clenching the cuff chain with his fingers helplessly. He couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he was aroused. In his mind he couldn't think of anyone more despicable than this woman, yet his body seemed to react opposite of what he felt. Whatever had been in that pill was doing this - he knew that - yet still he couldn't help but feel utterly ashamed and disgusted with himself.

"Good boy," he heard the blonde say as she circled her thumb around the tip of his cock, making him twitch. And with that suddenly she let go of him. James immediately let out a pant from both relief and the tingling sensation she left in his already throbbing cock. He felt her get off the bed and carefully he opened his eyes only to see her standing there, looking down on him.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," she smiled and put her hands behind her back. James' nostrils flared slightly in contempt while he tried to gather himself, trying to control his breathing. A sound then caught his attention. A familiar sound that could only be that of a zipper. Shocked he looked at the woman and realized that she was zipping down the side of her pencil dress. Frozen he looked at her for a second but then he turned his head away, his mind overwhelmed with thoughts of what was probably coming next. This couldn't be happening.

"Don't be shy, honey," she said and he could hear the ruffling of clothes when the dress hit the floor. Panic started to wash through him like raging tidal waves and his pulse was hammering so hard in his veins that his vision almost blurred with every thump of his heart.

"Don't do this," he said, still looking away. But the blonde merely laughed as she took off the red stilettos and opened the hooks in her bra. Wriggling out of her black underwear she let out a sigh as she dropped the lingerie on the floor.

"Don't worry, love... I promise I'll be gentle," she chuckled and started approaching the bed.


	7. A Personal Investigation

With shaky fingers Michael held on to his mug of instant coffee, sitting on the edge of the bed in his room at the inn. It was early in the morning and day was slowly starting to break. Time felt like it was passing in slow motion, it felt like he had been sitting here for days already. The cab drive from the park had felt endless and he had had to fight not to break down crying in the back seat. The cab driver had started chitchatting as they usually do, asking him why he wasn't carrying an umbrella with him in this godforsaken weather and so on and so forth. Michael had gathered himself enough to answer shortly without his voice trembling too much, quickly implying that he was in no mood to chat. Luckily the cab driver had accepted his wish for silence and had kept quiet for the rest of the ride to the inn. Michael's fist was clenching the sheets on the bed as he sat there in the dim light of the reading lamp, groggy from sleep deprivation and concern. He felt gutted. And he felt guilty. Not to mention useless. Not only had he lost James... But he felt so inadequate regarding his attempt to get him back. He felt... defenseless. And he hadn't got James back as he had thought he would. He prayed that he was okay. A sob escaped him as he placed the coffee mug on the night stand, not feeling like drinking the warm beverage anyway. With a sigh he covered his face with his hands, trying to gather himself. But no matter how hard he tried not to he couldn't help but go through the scenario of the previous evening again and again in his mind, seeing James' smile, their hands secretly caressing each other in public, their jokes and his laughter... And how much of a jerk he had been to him with his misplaced jealousy. In retrospect he knew that James hadn't been flirting what so ever with that waitress. How could he have ever thought so? It had been the other way around.

"Stupid..." Michael muttered under his breath, face still covered by his hands. How could he be this useless, how could he not have noticed something last night, a hint, a clue... anything!? But no, he hadn't seen or noticed anything but his own jealousy and what HE wanted. Another sob made its way out between his lips as he rubbed his face.

"Stupid...! Stupid, stupid...!!" he groaned as he hit his hands against his forehead repeatedly. He couldn't bear this. It was like he couldn't be in his own body, it hurt too much. He couldn't bear the thought of James being hurt... Was he hurt? Was he scared? Or worse, maybe he was...

"No...!" Michael yelled and jumped up from the bed, kicking the night stand hard and sending it flying into the wall. The wooden piece of furniture shattered along with the coffee mug and fell to the floor, scattered in chunky pieces on the red and yellow carpet. Heaving for air Michael ran his fingers through his hair, then turned and walked for the bathroom, trying to block out the horrible thoughts. His stomach was contracting in small cramps again and he thought he might throw up despite of the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since the dinner with James. While pacing back and forth in the bathroom he avoided looking at himself in the mirror the best he could, not being able to determine if he was going to be sick or not. With trembling fingers he switched off the bathroom light and walked back into the bedroom when his nausea faded as quickly as it had come. For a moment he just stood there, unable to decide what to do next. He couldn't just sit here and do nothing, it was driving him crazy. The hours came and went painfully slow - but they passed none the less - and without any sign from the kidnapper. He had been here for hours now and still no sound, no instruction, no nothing. Was it ever going to come? A shiver ran through him. What if he had been tricked? Trying to shake off the thought Michael grabbed his keycard and opened the door to the hallway, stepping outside. He had to get out, he had to distract himself from the thoughts somehow. He couldn't just sit here in his room and wait. With a small sigh he locked the door and walked down the stairs to the lobby, the silence in the inn thick and heavy. The otherwise so cozy atmosphere here was suddenly eerie in the silence of the dimly lit hallways and stairs. Shuddering Michael walked out into the deserted lobby, looking around for any sign of human activity. The place was completely abandoned, except for a female clerk. She was making her way out from a room in the back of the lobby to take her seat behind the counter of the reception to greet any eventual early morning guests. Looking out through the windows in the facade of the inn Michael saw the sky slowly changing its hue from a misty grayish red to a more sharp yellow color, breaking the darkness as the sun peeked up over the horizon. He then looked at the clock on the wall above the reception desk. It was seven in the morning. Clenching his jaw muscles Michael didn't quite know what to do with himself and he suddenly noticed out of the corner of his eye that the clerk was looking at him. Apparently he had been standing still in the middle of the lobby for some time now. Turning his head a little confused he looked at her and she smiled politely.

"Good morning, sir," she said in a cheerful voice while correcting a stack of papers on the wooden desk. She sat herself down on an office chair and made herself comfortable behind the counter while sending him a kind of curious look. She had to be in her forties, with brown hair tucked up on the back of her head in a bun and wearing the usual white shirt and black pencil skirt.

"What a lovely morning. It's nice to see a little life around here at this hour," she smiled and Michael realized that he hadn't answered her before. Trying to keep his composure and not look too distressed he managed to get his lips to form a fake smile.

"Goodmorning. Yes... Yes, it's... great," he stammered and cursed himself in his mind. Still standing in the middle of the lobby probably looking a little too pale he realized that he should move and try to act just a little bit normal. The clerk didn't seem like she had noticed anything though. Yet.

"I take it you're a type A individual then, sir, being up and about this early on a Sunday? You know, they say that type A people are more organized and ambitious than B people..." she chatted, sending him a friendly smile.

"But of course are also more prone to coronary heart disease," she giggled as she turned her head to the small computer screen by the counter, clicking away on the keyboard. Michael raised an eyebrow slightly, trying to focus on her instead of all of the panicky thoughts currently whirling around in his head.

"But that's all just a theory anyway," she said and looked at him shortly before returning her glance to the screen. Biting his lip Michael nodded, trying to look somewhat engaged in the chitchat.

"Ahh, that's just typical!" the clerk suddenly burst out, glaring at the screen. Michael nearly jumped in surprise by the sudden change in volume. This the clerk did seem to notice and she immediately looked at him with an apologetic expression on her face.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't mean to startle you. It's just an intern who just quit her job here. After one single day...! We really needed the help, who will fill in now...?" she mumbled and rubbed her forehead in annoyance. She let out a sigh as she continued to click away on the keyboard, seemingly trying to solve the situation. Michael bit his lip as he thought it over carefully... Could it maybe be linked somehow? Should he try to find out? He wasn't being watched, was he? And what was wrong with a little conversation? Maybe he could investigate a little, just in case... A chill ran through him. In case of what exactly?

"Was she working yesterday?" he asked and immediately felt like hitting himself in the face for asking so directly. It had sounded much more elaborate in his head. The brunette turned her head to look at him, a surprised and slightly confused look on her face. Feeling awkward Michael hurried to smile.

"I hope it wasn't because of my lack of tip or something," he said and tried his best to let out a grin sounding as casual as possible. This seemed to work and the brunette's expression softened a little.

"Oh no, don't think that, sir...!" she smiled.

"She might have served you in the restaurant yesterday, sure, but... I doubt anyone in their right mind would quit because of lacking tip. We pay our waiters well," she sighed and shook her head at the screen. Michael felt his heart beat slightly faster. So it was a waitress... Who had been working in the restaurant yesterday.... Who suddenly quit. It was probably nothing, but... He swallowed and noticed that his mouth suddenly felt dry. Carefully he stepped up to the counter and placed his palms on it, putting on his most friendly face. The clerk turned her head a little, still hitting the keys at impressive speed on the keyboard.

"I was wondering if you could help me...?" he said in a low voice and leaned towards her a little when she turned around on her chair to look at him. She sent him a broad smile.

"I will do what I can, sir. What can I help you with?" she beamed, folding her hands on the desk and enthusiastically awaiting his answer. It felt like Michael's throat started to constrict and tiny droplets of sweat emerged on his forehead. He forced a smile.

"Well, you see, I was really...." Michael started, but his mouth felt so dry that he had to clear his throat. This was a long shot. And a gamble. But he had to go with his gut. Even if it proved completely fruitless. Feeling a droplet of sweat making its way down his forehead he smiled and continued:

"I was really blown away by this blonde waitress serving table seven last night. Do you know if she will be back tonight?" he said, trying desperately to keep his tone of voice as close to normal as he could. The clerk looked at him a little puzzled, her full lips slightly parted in surprise. Michael felt his cheeks burning as he fought to calm himself down while his heart felt like it was trying to pound its way out of his chest. The brunette then lit up in a smile and she chuckled.

"Oh... I see," she said and looked a little flushed herself.

"I'm afraid she's the one who just quit her job," she then added with a sympathetic look in her eyes. Michael's gut seemed to suddenly twist into a hard knot and he had to remove his hands from the counter as they turned into fists. It could still be nothing. Nothing at all. Swallowing he let out a sigh. Allowing his eyes to turn just a little watery he looked at the clerk.

"Do you know her name...?" he then asked with a little smile, his fists closing so hard that his nails dug into the skin on his palms painfully. The woman in front of him hesitated.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't give out that information..." she began in a sad voice, but before he knew it Michael's eyes starting to water more than he intended.

"Please... It's really important...!" he said in a voice that trembled and suddenly cracked. Letting out an involuntary snivel he looked over his shoulder to make sure that they were still alone in the lobby before looking back at her.

"I have to know... Please..." he whispered and looked at her earnestly, placing his palms on the counter again. The brunette looked up at him, her eyes now almost looking at him in a sympathetic way. However he could tell that she was indecisive.

"I... I need to know who to send flowers to," Michael pleaded and he smiled a little as he could see her expression softening even more. She looked at him with a kind of sad look in her eyes.

"I really shouldn't..." she whispered. Michael felt his heart sink. But then she suddenly turned and tapped at the keyboard. Her eyes were scanning the screen while Michael's breath hitched.

"Here we go. Her name is Emma Theroux. But you didn't hear that from me," she said softly and sent him a warm smile. Michael let out a mix between a gasp and a grin, relieved that he had actually managed to get the name. But still he knew that it probably wouldn't get him anywhere. But it was better than nothing.

"Thank you so much," Michael said and sent the clerk a smile which bordered on being genuine. The brunette smiled.

"I wish you luck, sir," she said and sent him a slight wink, her eyes shimmering in something which looked like excitement. Michael smiled back before he turned and walked towards the restaurant, crossing the checkered floor in long strides. The clerk returned to face the screen and tap away on the keyboard, a slight smile on her face.

As Michael entered the restaurant with its many paintings, brown leather furniture and red, velvet curtains his glance immediately settled on table seven where he and James had been sitting the night before. By the sight it felt like someone grabbed a hold of his heart and twisted it like a wet dishrag. He swallowed. Slowly he approached the table in the quiet restaurant, ignoring the few guests who were starting to show up for breakfast. Running his fingers along the top of the chair James had been sitting in he stopped for a moment, not able to stop himself from dwelling on the fact that he wasn't here. Clearing his throat Michael then sat himself down in his own chair from yesterday, placing his palms on the table top restlessly. His glance darted around a bit, scanning his surroundings carefully while trying to pick up on anything and everything out of the ordinary. But everything seemed normal. The same calm and quiet atmosphere, the same humming of low voices and clinking of tableware, the same damn everything... Except James was missing. Blinking at the tears starting to form in his eyes Michael pulled out his smartphone from his inner pocket. He quickly went online and opened Canada's white pages, typing in the name 'Emma Theroux'. Feeling a little nervous he pressed enter and the database started loading. No match. Letting out a small sigh he then googled the name. Four Facebook profiles and some LinkedIn and Twitter accounts showed up, but as he browsed through them none of the pictures of her matched. Anxious and disappointed Michael stuck his phone back in his pocket. What was he to do with a name which wasn't listed? He couldn't exactly call the police.... Looking around in the restaurant he pondered when he would hear from the kidnapper. And if. He shuddered. How long was he to wait? His gaze settled on the empty chair in front of him. If only he had been paying more attention, if only he hadn't gone to that stupid meeting...! What if it was too late? What if the last emotion he had shown James would be the final one - his misplaced jealousy, his snappish remarks and childish behavior. James didn't deserve that. How he wished that he could turn back time and do everything differently. If only...

"...Sir?" a voice suddenly said and Michael's mind snapped back to the present. Confused he looked up at a male waiter who was standing next to him with a white dish towel over his arm while looking a little perplexed. Michael blinked.

"Excuse me, what?" he said and looked up at him, not sure about how long he had been sitting there unresponsive. The rather young waiter smiled apologetically.

"Do you wish to order, sir?" he asked as he motioned to hand him a menu. Michael quickly shook his head and raised his hands in the air a little.

"No thank you, I'm not hungry," he managed to say in a polite tone of voice while getting up from his chair. Even though his stomach was painfully empty the thought of food made him instantly nauseous.

"Oh, of course, sir," the waiter smiled and backed away. A little clumsily Michael got up and shoved the chair back into place by the table while looking around in the restaurant. He knew that he probably needed to eat something, but he just couldn't right now. Maybe a drink could suffice...? Even though he didn't feel like ingesting anything, it wouldn't do anyone any good if he was too tired to think or act. He noticed the bar in the corner and let out a small sigh. There was no one sitting by the bar counter so maybe it would be a nice place to retreat to without waiters running to and fro. And why occupy a table if he wasn't going to order anything? With that in mind Michael made his way towards the bar. On his way he passed a few people eating their breakfast and his stomach turned a little by the smell of the food on their plates. An elderly man was reading a newspaper by a table by himself close to the bar, and Michael maneuvered past the table clumsily, almost tipping over the man's coffee.

"Sorry...!" Michael burst out. The white-haired man looked up from his newspaper and just sent him a smile.

"No harm done," he said in a kind voice and then looked back down on the paper as he cleared his throat. Michael slowed down his pace a little and continued walking. He felt oddly heavy, like lead weights had been attached to his feet. None the less he made it to the bar and managed to place himself on one of the tall bar stools without stumbling. He then placed his elbows on the counter. The bartender wasn't to be seen. Suppressing a sigh he looked up when he heard some rummaging about in the back room of the bar while his eyes scanned the many bottles of liquor on the shelves. He concentrated on ignoring his nausea and the dizzy sensation running through him. His blood sugar level was probably on a steep nose dive by now. Looking at his wrist watch Michael focused on the hour hand. It was eight in the morning, which meant that 10 hours had passed since the gut wrenching meeting at the park. He had to hear something soon. He had to. If he didn't he... he would have to involve the authorities. He gulped. With furrowed brows he made his decision - if there was still no sound from the kidnapper at ten o'clock, he would have no other choice but to go to the police. He couldn't keep waiting. He had seen enough documentaries to know that the first twenty-four hours were crucial.... And if there was no contact after that many hours, the contact was never going to come. By the mere thought his heart skipped a beat. In the same moment a man came out from the back room, a dish towel casually thrown over his shoulder. It was the same man who had received the payment for dinner the night before. Seemingly surprised to see a customer his eyes widened slightly and he slowed down his pace, a small smile spreading on his face.

"Goodmorning, sir," he said in a deep and raspy voice. He quickly eyed Michael up and down.

"Never too early for a drink, is it?" he joked and let out a small chuckle. Michael shook his head a little and forced himself to return the smile.

"I'll just have a coke..." he said and had to focus hard on sounding friendly. He was almost unable to hide the desperation raging inside him at this point and everyone he met seemed so utterly happy and carefree that he felt like throwing up. He was alone, alone in this misery of not knowing. Not knowing a god damn thing. Free falling.

"Sounds reasonable," the bartender said and walked up to the counter, looking a little contemplative. Michael scratched his index finger's nail against the wooden counter top while the man reached for a cold Coca Cola in the refrigerator. He removed the cap and placed the bottle in front of Michael before grabbing a glass from a shelf and scooping some ice cubes into it. Michael barely registered the glass being put in front of him.

"The bar is actually closed, I'm just here to tidy some things up," the man then said and bent down to pick some empty liquor bottles up from somewhere behind the counter. Michael grabbed the bottle of coke and put it to his dry lips, gulping down a few mouthfuls and completely ignoring the glass with ice cubes. The acidic liquid felt like it burned in his stomach.

"It's on the house. Have a great day, sir," the bartender said with a smile and gathered the bottles, a few too many for him to carry with elegance. He was making his way to the back of the bar again when Michael's gaze suddenly caught a glimpse of something sticking up from his back pocket. Pink post-its. Just like the ransom note. Michael's jaw dropped a little and his heart seemed to contract in a double beat.

"Umm, hey..." he heard himself say and the bartender stopped and looked back at him. For a moment Michael was just looking at him, uncertain of what to say or how to act. The bartender raised an eyebrow. The empty bottles were dangling uncomfortably in the man's grasp.

"Do you know where Emma is?" Michael then asked, the words coming out hoarsely and insecure. He couldn't think of anything else to ask and he immediately felt horribly stupid. He had just said something random to stop the man from leaving. The bartender 's eyes widened ever so slightly, but a smile quickly replaced the surprised look on his face. Still clinging on to the bottles he let out a small sigh.

"No. No, I don't. Why do you ask, sir?" the bartender said and smiled. Michael immediately felt a thin sheet of sweat emerge on the skin of his forehead.

"I was... I was just wondering if... if maybe she knew where I could buy that wine from yesterday," Michael stammered, uncertain of what to say. The man let out a chuckle.

"Well, I can tell you that, sir. I can check our distributor for you if you wish?" he said cheerfully.

"But it'll have to wait until tomorrow, because right now I am off duty and I'm running late," he then added and started to move towards the back. Michael felt a wave of panic rush through him.

"Was James McAvoy here last night?" he blurted out, the thin sheet of sweat turning into oily drops making their way down his face. His heart felt like it was beating at double speed. The bartender turned his head and looked at him with a kind of surprised look on his stubbly face.

"Yes, he was here..." he answered with a perplexed expression radiating from his grayish eyes. He was looking at Michael as if he was starting to question why he was really here by the bar. Michael swallowed.

"How did he... Was he alright? I mean, did you notice anything strange?" he asked. The muscular man behind the counter narrowed his eyes a little.

"Well, he got really drunk. I really got to go, sir..." he said, now a little hint of annoyance in his voice. Michael got up from his chair a little when the man turned to leave once more.

"Did he leave with anyone?" Michael asked desperately, the trembling in his voice clearly audible. He had spoken a little louder than he intended to and he felt his cheek flush. The bartender snapped his head towards him, his brows furrowed and with a stern look on his face.

"Are you here for a drink or an interrogation...?" he asked bluntly, trying to conceal his annoyance in a humorous tone of voice. Michael's eyes widened a little by his response. The empty bottles were still clinking against each other from their dangling position in his grasp and he looked at Michael impatiently.

"Did he talk to anyone?" Michael then asked, ignoring the man's snappish comment. The bartender let out something between a sigh and a hiss, eyeing Michael up and down.

"No, sir, he didn't. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be somewhere," he said and put on a fake looking smile and turned around, walking towards the back room and exit, bottles clinking loudly. The pink post-its seemed to almost glow from his jeans' pocket and Michael felt himself get off the bar stool.

"That's not true," a voice suddenly said. Both the bartender and Michael turned around towards the sound. It was the white-haired man whose coffee Michael had almost knocked over. He was looking at them from behind the newspaper, his blue eyes peeking up at them.

"What...?" Michael asked and looked at the elderly man, who put the paper down on his lap as he was clearing his throat again.

"He was talking to that blonde waitress," he said and smiled a little.

"She was daring him to review whiskys. The poor lad got awfully drunk," he said and let out a small giggle. Michael's jaw dropped open.

"Did he leave with her??" he asked, taking a step closer to the table as if that was going to bring him closer to the truth somehow.

"I left after she asked him for his autograph, so I'm afraid I don't know. She seemed to fancy him quite a lot though," he said and winked as he picked back up the newspaper. Michael's breath hitched. Immediately he turned to face the bartender, but he discovered that the man was making his way out of the bar towards the room in the back. He was still carrying the bottles which were clinking loudly against each other from every step he took.

"Hey...!?" Michael yelled but the bartender kept going as if he hadn't heard him. The man behind the newspaper looked up at Michael with a surprised look on his face as Michael turned towards the bar.

"Hey!!" Michael yelled once more, this time even louder. His face was now completely drenched in cold sweat. Again his eyes fixed on the pink post-its sticking up from the bartender's back pocket as he was about to disappear into the back. A whirlwind of sudden desperation seemed to scatter his thoughts and he placed a hand on the bar counter and swung himself over it, his long legs knocking over his glass of half melted ice cubes as he went. He landed on his feet behind the bar with a light thump. The bartender turned his head towards the sound. As soon as he saw Michael following him the color drained from his face and he suddenly dropped the bottles and spun around, fleeing towards the back door. The empty liquor bottles crashed to the floor and shattered in countless shards, drizzled all over the red and yellow carpet.

"Stop!" Michael roared as he ran after the man, who was clumsily fumbling to open the back door which was almost hidden behind some stacked cardboard boxes. The shards of glass crunched under the soles of Michael's shoes as he quickly closed the distance between them. The bartender managed to open the door and sharp, cool sunlight poured into the dark back room. He crashed his shoulder into the door to force it to open faster, causing him to tumble outside with arms flailing in the air. Michael was close behind him and when the man stumbled on his own feet, Michael managed to grab a hold of his collar and pull him backwards forcefully. With a surprised yelp the bartender tried to free himself, but Michael aggressively flung him sideways, causing him to smack face first into the wall next to the back door. The two men had made it a good five feet out into the parking lot behind the inn, so the impact with the wall was hard and resulted in a loud groan from the bartender. Immediately Michael grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to turn towards him, pressing him against the wall. Out of breath the bartender glared at him.

"Get off of me!" he yelled and raised his fists, but he didn't motion to actually hit Michael. Instead he looked somewhat terrified and he didn't move when Michael pressed him against the wall even harder.

"Tell me what you know...!" Michael hissed into his face, oblivious to the fact that people might be watching from the parking lot. Right now the only thing that mattered to him was the bartender and the knowledge he had to possess. He wouldn't have tried to escape if he didn't know anything about James' kidnapping. And he certainly wouldn't have lied about last night either. And then there were the pink post-its. Michael's mind felt like it was spinning like a carousel out of control.

"Where is James?!" Michael yelled and he clenched his handfuls of the bartender's collar so hard that his knuckles turned a milky white. The man's eyes were opened as wide as humanly possible and he was shaking his head.

"I don't know anything...!" he started, but Michael raised a fist in the air.

"Bullshit!!" he growled and pulled his fist back even further to deliver a punch. The bartender flinched and held up his hands defensively. Michael hesitated, narrowing his eyes and looking at him, waiting for him to speak. But there was nothing but silence. As a result Michael delivered a punch which landed on the man's mouth, sending a thin spray of blood out on the wall next to his head. The bartender let out a shrill cry and covered his face with his hands, trying to protect himself. Michael was panting from a mix between exhaustion, fear and fury, his breathing shallow and raspy. He lifted his fist again.

"Tell me...!!" he yelled desperately. The bartender looked at him shortly, fear on display in his gray, watery eyes. He was still shaking his head.

"No..." he spluttered, blood bubbling from the corner of his mouth. A hint of defiance was shimmering in his eyes and he was closing his hands into fists. With a frustrated roar Michael punched him again. This time he aimed for the man's nose and when his knuckles connected with his face, a piercing howl escaped the man. This time the wall next to his head was dotted with round splatters of blood and the bartender's knees buckled.

"Fuck...!" he groaned, sliding down the wall slowly. However Michael pulled him back up by his collar and shook him violently.

"Tell me where he is!!" Michael hissed, his voice almost cracking. The man spluttered something incoherent and covered his nose with both of his hands.

"You fucking broke my nose...!" he gurgled, almost sounding like he was on the verge of crying. But he still wasn’t answering the question. Michael heard himself let out a strange and almost unrecognizable growl. The man lifted his gaze and stared at him, shocked. Again Michael readied his fist, this time without even thinking about it. The bartender's eyes immediately widened in terror.

"Okay, okay!!" he then cried hoarsely, trying to shield his face with his hands. Michael convinced himself to wait, his lungs wheezing and his breath hitching.

"She just paid me to keep quiet and leave a damn note," the man pleaded.

"I don't know where he is, I swear..." the man then started and Michael immediately yanked his collar and was about to punch him again.

"But I know where SHE might be...!" the bartender burst out, trying to duck from a blow he thought was coming. Michael’s fist was hovering threateningly in the air and he pressed the man against the wall, glaring at him furiously.

"Tell me," he ordered.

 

 


	8. Taken

 

 

James could hear her bare feet approaching the army bed on which he was lying, splayed out and exposed. Still turning his face in the opposite direction he refused to look at her. Clenching the cuff chain helplessly with shaky fingers he closed his eyes when he felt the mattress move as she got on to the bed. He could feel the warmth radiating from her naked body and his stomach automatically turned. He couldn't wrap his mind around this and desperately he tried to imagine that he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. With his pulse hammering viciously in his veins he tried to focus. A face appeared in his mind. Michael's. He was smiling. James let out an inaudible sob as he felt himself reach for him in his mind. He wanted to hug him, to bury his face in the side of his neck, to smell his scent and to feel his heart beat. Oh, how he missed him. He felt the mattress move slightly in the distance and the image of Michael flickered like a TV screen filled with static, but James held on to him. He didn't want to let go, he needed him. But suddenly Michael's image stirred and faded completely when the sensation of something warm engulfed his sex and James jumped, his eyes opening in shock. A twitch ran through him and he lifted his head to look down. The blonde had taken him in her mouth, her red lips closing firmly around his erect cock, sliding up and down his shaft.

  
"No...!" James heard himself say under his breath. She looked up at him teasingly and he immediately looked away, resting his head back down on the mattress with a pant. She hummed. Slick with saliva he felt how his cock was throbbing and his hands automatically turned into fists. Hating himself for not being able to stay unresponsive to her touch James fumbled in his mind to get back the image of Michael. He needed it, he needed... him. Why couldn't he concentrate, why couldn't he stop his heart from racing and why was the unwanted touch arousing him against his will? Feeling his eyes watering up slightly he couldn't help but let out a frustrated sound. Her lips around him didn't allow him to find the image of Michael in his mind to cling on to.

  
"You like this, don't you?" the blonde mumbled against his cock, her warm breath hitting his skin. James didn't dignify her comment with a response. Instead he pulled at the cuffs again. Letting out a hiss he squeezed his eyes shut when she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock, flicking it. James felt his entire abdomen tremble, his muscles involuntarily contracting in small twitches. The woman looked at him with a seductive expression on her face.

  
"You're ready, I can tell," she said under her breath while sliding her hands up his stomach, following the contours of his muscles beneath the pale, freckled skin. She then moved, lifting her head and starting to crawl upward with a knee on each side of James' hips. Quickly her face was directly above his and she looked down at him, smiling mischievously.

  
"Oh, mon ami..." she whispered, caressing the side of his face with her fingers. Instantly he yanked his head away, trying to avoid her touch. Her expression darkened.

  
"I'm going to love fucking you..." she said lowly, placing her hands around his neck, squeezing lightly. Suppressing a cough James looked up at her.

  
"Go to hell," he spat hoarsely. For a split second she looked shocked. Leaning down a little she seemed to compose herself, but her eyes were flaring intensely with anger. While applying more pressure to his throat she leaned down far enough for the tips of their noses to almost touch. James couldn't move or breathe. Refusing to cower he stared back at her, returning her gaze defiantly. Her breathing was getting faster as she started lowering herself, all while tightening the grip around his throat. James' lips parted, but no sound came out when he felt her sex brush against him. Small dots of white light had started to dance around in his field of vision and panicky he blinked, trying to heave for air. But in vain. She chuckled.

  
"Wait for it..." she teased, glaring down at him. His vision was now cornered by a thin, black vignette, blocking out everything in his peripheral vision. He was about to pass out and desperately his fists fought to get out of the cuffs and he squirmed, trying to throw her off.

  
"I promise you're gonna love it," she panted, struggling to keep him steady. She tightened her grip more and he exposed his teeth in an agonized grimace. A tear rolled down his cheek and he felt his eyelids starting to close. Everything was flickering and suddenly the image of Michael appeared. It felt like his heartbeat slowed down a little by the sight. The feeling of her on top of him and the sound of her voice was drifting away, becoming diffused and faded. He thought he heard her voice say something along the lines of "are you ready", but he didn't know. And he didn't care. For a moment the picture of Michael was crystal clear and vivid and in his mind James reached out his hand to touch his face. Was he real? He thought he was. He could even smell his cologne. Then suddenly Michael disappeared as quickly as he had come, the image rapidly flickering and turning into a uniform, bright white. Confused James found his mind slamming brutally back into reality and he felt himself sucking in a huge gulp of air. The tight grip on his throat was gone and the air suddenly filling his lungs sparked an explosion of color and sensation when his vision returned and his eyes shot open. But he didn't even know what he was seeing as he looked up at a shadow above him, outlined against the strip lamps above. A sudden awareness of the weight on top of him kicked at his semi-conscious mind and for a moment he didn't know if he was awake or sleeping. Then the sounds returned. Panting. He could feel hands on him. And at the same moment he felt how something warm engulfed him and he bucked by the sudden overflow of sensation running through his body. The electric pulses shot through his loins and his abdomen felt like it was on fire. The warmth clenching around his sex made him cramp and arch his back in a mix of pain and arousal. Letting out a strained wheeze James realized where he was and what was happening. With a cough he stared up at the blonde woman, shocked and heaving for air.

  
"Told you," she gasped with a smile as she moved on top of him, lowering herself and burying him deeper inside of her. James grimaced, pressing the back of his head down into the mattress. He didn't care that the headache returned tenfold, he welcomed it.

  
"God...!" he coughed, clenching the cuff chain. With a moan she started riding him faster and to his disbelief he could feel himself grow harder inside of her. Trembling he heard himself groan and he tossed his head to the side, trying to distract himself and induce an even bigger headache. But the arousal he felt was overriding the pain shooting back and forth inside his skull, rendering him defenseless against his own body. Cursing himself under his breath James closed his eyes and tried fighting back, trying to imagine the most repulsive things he could think of and to disassociate himself the best he could from what she was doing to him. But his body had a mind of its own and he was losing the fight.

  
"Stop," he heard his own voice say. He almost couldn't recognize it. It sounded different and strange. He could hear her chuckle above him in between her panting and he felt her lean down and grab a handful of his hair, yanking his head back. He let out a gasp, but kept his eyes closed.

  
"No, sweetheart... We've only just begun," she said, out of breath.

  
"Look at me," she whispered. He felt her breath on his face and grimaced when she started slamming herself against him harder, the sound of skin hitting skin loud and raw and bouncing off the walls. He flinched when she yanked his hair again.

  
"Look at me, James!" she commanded, her voice oozing with anger this time. James felt his lips quiver slightly when he complied and opened his eyes reluctantly, meeting her gaze. Her gray eyes were sparkling with lust and anger and something predatory that he had never seen before. Sucking in the air in fast, shallow gulps he redirected his glance - he couldn't look at her. He simply couldn't. So instead he settled his glance on the wall behind her. A low laughter escaped her as she rocked her body on top of him and she let go of his hair. Leaning back a little she grabbed her breasts, pinching the hard nipples while gyrating her hips as she rode him, letting out breathy moans. James inhaled sharply when he felt her walls clenching around him.

  
"Do you love me?" she suddenly asked and looked down at him, her gaze dreamy. The only thing James could muster at this point was to let out a protesting, guttural groan even though he wanted to yell and scream profanities at her. The searing fire burning in his loins was growing more intense by the second and to his horror he realized that he was headed towards climax. Shaking his head repeatedly he managed to look up at her.

  
"You're sick...!!" he spat. Suddenly stars exploded in his field of vision when his head was forced to the side. For a moment he didn't know what was going on and for a split second he lost track of time. A smarting pain then started to spread on his cheek and he came to the conclusion that she had backhanded him. Moaning he turned his head back when she guided him by grabbing his chin.

  
"Say that you love me," she ordered, her movements becoming faster and more aggressive. She pulled herself up only to crash her body down again, forcing him to plunge into her forcefully. He hissed when she scratched his chest with her long, red fingernails, leaving streaks of red on his skin.

  
"No...!" he groaned, ignoring her nails digging into his skin again. She leaned down, eyes blazing with an animalistic rage that caused the ball of fear in his stomach to turn much denser.

  
"Say: I love you, Emma...!!!" she yelled in a shrill voice and backhanded him again with a loud 'smack'. A grunt escaped him when his vision turned black for a second and he felt something warm trickling from the corner of his mouth. She grabbed his chin once more and turned his head to face him. Heaving for air she kept moving relentlessly on top of him and with a firm grip she pulled him upwards by the collar of his T-shirt, ignoring his pained gasp. She stared directly at him and suddenly she stopped moving. With her face only an inch from his, James met her glance in a haze of dizziness and pain.

  
"Or should I have my friend stop by Crouch End...? I'm sure your wife would love a visit..." she whispered lowly while a malicious smile spread on her face. James let out a choked sound and his eyes widened, the haze he was in vaporizing in an instant like dew in direct sunlight.

  
"Don't you fucking dare..." he began, but she immediately cut him off, narrowing her eyes.

  
"And when small children are involved it could easily get nasty..." she said, trailing off while staring at him with a crooked smile lingering in the corner of her mouth. James' mouth opened in shock and an expression of pure terror spread on his face as he paled.

  
"You... You..." he whispered hoarsely, unable to collect his thoughts frozen in a panic. For the first time he kept staring directly back at her, locked in intense eye contact.

  
"If you touch them I will kill you, I swear to god...!" he snarled desperately, a fury boiling within him so intensely that he found himself pulling at the cuffs, convinced that he could break the metal like a twig. But it didn't break despite his efforts. She let out a huff and leaned down a little more, their noses touching.

  
"Say it then," she said flatly. For a few seconds he glared at her, the cuffs giving off a metallic shriek as he pulled at them so hard that blood started to flow down his forearms. The muscles in his jaw were clenching as he stared at her.

  
"I love you... Emma," he then said in a monotone voice, pronouncing each word very clearly and without emotion. His gaze didn't stray from hers and she narrowed her eyes, clearly not satisfied with his reaction. Twisting the handful of his T-shirt's fabric angrily she shoved him back down on the mattress. Still locked in eye contact she resumed riding him viciously. Even though James tried not to make a sound he couldn't help but utter small groans when she slammed herself against him - but he didn't want to. He didn't want to give her anything. Yet still the pill-induced hypersensitivity coursing through his entire body betrayed him completely and when she ground herself against him he had to suppress a loud moan. His stomach was turning, his mind was spinning and at the same time he was approaching a climax that he didn't at all welcome. She let out a pant and he suddenly felt her walls starting to clench around him, wrapping his cock in a hot tightness that almost shoved him over the edge. He immediately squeezed his eye shut. Desperately he tried to cling on to how much he hated this woman, how much he detested her... and how much he despised himself. Fighting against the urge to give in to the approaching climax James heard himself repeat the word "no" over and over again. The dense ball of fear in his stomach doubled in size by the sound of his own voice. He sounded defeated. Desperate. Unfamiliar. And broken. Tears were making their way down his cheeks from the corners of his eyes, but he didn't notice.

  
"God, yes, James... Fuck me!!" the blonde suddenly screamed and her walls hugged his cock even tighter, contracting in hard twitches when she came. Her fingernails dug into the skin on his chest and she rode him frantically. A whimper escaped James and he felt himself reaching the point of no return. Clenching the cuff chain helplessly he let out an agonized cry when he felt himself buck his hips and thrust into her, exposing his teeth in a pained grimace. And he came. Stars made of flickering, white light exploded before his eyes and he stopped breathing while he cramped, his entire abdomen tensing up and trembling. A searing fire erupted in his loins and his mind seemed devoured by the intensity of the drug-fueled orgasm. He felt himself come inside of her in a long and hard eruption, his cock twitching and his entire body contracting in a spasm. Then his mind returned. And it felt like something inside of him broke. Something he hadn't even known was there. Sucking in a big gulp of air he was able to start breathing again and the muscles in his body slowly started to relax as he began coming down from his high. In a haze he discovered that the blonde was looking down at him, a huge smile decorating her face.

  
"I love you too, James," she said in a silky voice. Feeling the tears stream freely down his face he turned his head to the side, exhausted and repelled. He felt like he was going to be sick. The room was spinning slightly and when he tried to focus on the plank wall the wood seemed to be moving in waves. His eyes were half-closed when she finally got up and he felt himself slip out of her, his cock flaccid but still throbbing painfully. He could feel her get off the mattress, the metal springs in it squeaking slightly. She chuckled. He suppressed a sob when he felt her place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. He felt her press another pill in between his lips and its bitter taste immediately spread on his tongue, the pill quickly dissolving into a grainy paste on his tongue.

  
"Just to help you relax, darling," she said. With quivering lips James closed his eyes. She was saying some more, but he didn't register it. Didn't want to. Lost in his own mind he had never felt this repulsed and ashamed. He couldn't fathom how deeply disgusted he felt with himself. And how dirty he felt. Below his cheek his tears were forming a wet blotch on the mattress and his hair was wet with sweat, gluing itself to his forehead. Feeling himself tremble he found himself hoping that she would kill him... It was suddenly an appealing prospect and not at all an unrealistic outcome to all of this, he realized. In a haze his glance was fixed on a whorl in the wooden wall. It seemed to float and wobble in an odd fashion. It almost looked like an eye looking back at him. Judging him. Shivering James closed his eyes. 

  
"... isn't it exciting?" he suddenly heard the woman's voice say, bouncing off the wall. He thought she might have been talking for some time but he hadn't heard a word she had said.

  
"Hey!" she said and he felt her smacking his cheek lightly. His stomach turned and he opened his eyes a little, trying to move away from her weakly - but he couldn't move his face further to the side, he remembered.

  
"It's not nap time yet," she chuckled and leaned down a little. Trailing a finger down the side of his face she smiled at him. He didn't move, he didn't have the energy. And there was nowhere to go either.

  
"You should really listen, James... Anyway, I think you'll love it there. A little tropical island - all to ourselves. Can you imagine? It's going to be so romantic!" she chattered in an excited voice. He heard the clicking of heels and he realized that she had probably put her clothes back on by now. He wasn't as fortunate though.

  
"The packing is done and we'll soon be on our way!" she said and he could hear her rummaging about somewhere behind him. Staring blankly at the wooden wall James licked his lip. He realized he was incredibly thirsty once more... But he didn't really care.

  
"Est la voiture prête? Nous partons maintenant..." he heard her voice say and he realized that she was talking on the phone again. Immediately a flicker of fear shot through his mind - what was she planning now? And who was she talking to? Swallowing dryly he weakly turned his head to look at her. At the same moment she hung up the phone and sent him a victorious stare.

  
"Time to get moving, darling," she said with a smile and stuck the smartphone in her dress pocket. She then walked over to the water pipe which James had been chained to previously, picking up his jeans from the floor. From behind a piece of furniture she picked up a roll of paper towels and walked over to the army bed, sitting herself down next to him. He flinched slightly when he felt her this close to him again and he automatically turned his head away and looked at the wall. He felt incredibly vulnerable and when she started to clean the sperm off his abdomen with the paper towels the feeling only intensified. He let out a hoarse gasp when she cleaned his flaccid cock, wiping the paper back and forth on the sensitive skin. The electric pulses were still there and by her touch they doubled in strength, leaving his cock slightly twitching and beginning to harden. She giggled.

  
"Oh, honey, I know a man has his urges, but we can't miss our flight," she taunted and winked at him. James cringed. He wanted to disappear. As she finished cleaning him up he stared intensely at the wall, suppressing the urge to let more tears make their way out of his eyes. His mind felt strangely hazy and his body weak and fatigued. As she dropped the used paper towels on the concrete floor James noticed footsteps. Dizzily he looked up - only to stare directly at the man from earlier. He was looking down at him with a skew, menacing smile on his broad face. James shuddered.

  
"Looks like she got you good..." he chuckled lowly and then looked at the blonde shortly.

  
"Je vais le préparer pour le voyage," he said and held out his hand towards the woman who nodded. Reaching into her other dress pocket she fished out the key to the cuffs and placed it in his open palm. She then handed him James' jeans. With a smile she leaned down and looked at her captive, gently brushing dark strands of hair away from his face. He didn't respond to the touch - instead he looked like he was almost asleep. She leaned down further while almost tenderly caressing his cheek.

  
"I'm going to go freshen up and get ready for the trip, my love. I trust you will behave while I'm gone?" she purred, trailing her fingernail along his jaw line. James blinked slowly, feeling oddly detached from the situation... Like he wasn't even there. Maybe that was a good thing, he thought to himself. He felt tired, so incredibly tired. Drained. He could feel the woman's breath in his ear as she spoke. She giggled and whispered something in French that he didn't understand.

  
"Toi et moi pour la vie..." she said and got back up. James then heard the clicking of her heels fade away into the distance and disappear. A blurry face was looking down on him and let out a huff. When the face moved out of his field of vision James suddenly felt hands on him and he recognized the feeling of denim. His jeans. The man was dressing him, he realized.   

 

 


	9. Interference

 

The whorl in the plank wall was still wobbly and moving in waves along with everything else, leaving James confused and wondering if he was passing out. But somehow his mind was clinging on to reality even though he wished for it to just snap and turn black, sparing him from this. But no, he was painfully present, yet his mind was hazy and oddly detached from everything. The man's hands were rough as he was dressing him, mocking comments flowing from his mouth in what seemed like an endless loop. James didn't really care though. Indistinctly he was thinking about what was going to happen now. Surely no one could smuggle someone onto a plane or force them onto one against their will? Blinking slowly James realized that the man - now on top of him - was uncuffing one of his wrists. As the tiny key slid into one of the locks the man hesitated for a moment and looked down at him, a threatening look spreading on his broad face.

"Don't get any ideas now," he said and bared his teeth in a grin as he lifted something up in front of James' face. For a moment he couldn't at all make out what it was, it was just a mess of blurry lines. He blinked and as his vision adjusted itself to the short distance he was able to make out a syringe with some light yellow liquid inside it. It had an orange safety device on top, concealing the needle. Suddenly feeling nauseous he swallowed dryly, grimacing a little when the man cupped his cheek with his free hand.

"Or it's sleepy time," the man said, clapping James' cheek as if he was a small child.

"And you won't wake back up. Ever," he added with a small, malicious wink. A huff escaped James, but he didn't have the energy to otherwise respond. Not that it mattered anyway. The man returned to fidgeting with the lock on the right cuff, and James felt himself tense up slightly. Maybe if he could throw just one good punch he would be able to earn enough time to get out of here before the man caught up to him. But he knew that it was a long shot. And not very plausible. If he hadn't even been able to escape him when he wasn't drugged - then how could he possibly do it now? The clicking sound of a lock opening then caught his attention and he realized that he had been gone in speculation for longer than he thought. Immediately he tensed up and tried to ready himself to throw a punch - but to his surprise his arms felt like jelly. It was like every ounce of strength had left his body and he realized that he might as well forget about it. For now. If he tried anything now he would definitely fail, the drugs in his system being way too potent. So instead of trying to throw a punch James let his arms fall once the man untangled the chain from the headboard. Weakly they just grazed the man's shoulders as they plopped down on the mattress and the man must have seen the look on his face, because he let out a chuckle as he grabbed James by the wrists.

"Drowsy, are we?" he said and pulled James up into a sitting position on the army bed. Almost tilting to the side James had to focus not to fall back down. Everything seemed to be spinning and even the paint spatters on the floor were bouncing and jumping before his eyes. And his entire body felt like it was made of heavy and dense jelly, weighing him down like a ton of bricks.

"Time to go, sweetheart," the man said mockingly and grabbed a hold of him, lifting him up by placing James' arm over his broad shoulders and standing up. As he did so James found himself being lifted off the bed and almost off the floor as well, the man being significantly taller than himself. Before he knew it they were making their way towards the door with the small, rectangular window in it. James' feet were dragging across the floor even though he tried to walk the best he could. It was like his limbs were semi-numb. How was he ever going to be able to run from these maniacs if he had the agility like a bag of potatoes? Frustrated he felt tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, but he suppressed them. Whatever had been in that pill was definitely something strong. But even strong drugs had to wear off at some point. And as soon as it did he would not hesitate to make a run for it, that was for sure. They had already reached the door and James found himself wondering what might be behind it because he honestly didn't have the slightest idea. He had absolutely no idea where he was. If he was even still in Québec or not. He could be in a skyscraper in some big city for all he knew. As the man turned the handle James narrowed his eyes a little, trying to focus his vision and minimize the blur. As the door opened he blinked in confusion - he was staring directly at another plank wall only a feet in front of them. He then realized that there was a staircase leading up to their left. A basement. They were in a basement. Of course, he thought bitterly. In the same moment the man started to make his way up the stairs, only groaning lightly as he pulled James with him seemingly without much effort. James felt like a piece of luggage and he was annoyed with himself that he couldn't make his feet move properly and clear each step of the staircase without his knees giving in. Drowsily he tried to produce just a tiny bit of saliva in his dry mouth, but it still felt like sandpaper. They were approaching the last couple of steps on their way up the stairs and he could feel his body tensing up with both curiosity and fear. Maybe he would be able to see something that could tell him where he was? Finally they cleared the stairs and James' glance darted around in a hallway. His jaw dropped slightly because this place didn't at all look like he had expected it to. Photos of smiling people were decorating the walls and to his surprise the place looked like the average family household. There was nothing out of the ordinary that he could see. Coats and jackets were hanging on hooks on the wall and a chest of drawers with knick knacks on top of it gave this place the completely average and homely feel one could expect of any middle class home. Longingly he found himself staring at a front door made of frosted glass at the far end of the hallway. It looked green and sunny on the other side, but that was all he could see through the thick glass. If anything. Where on earth was he? And whose house was this? James let out a small pant when the man dragging him suddenly let go, making him fall to the floor in a pile on top of a thickly woven, brown carpet. A slight thud sounded when he collided with the floor, barely managing to avoid smacking his head into the wall next to him. The man behind him let out another chuckle and turned around, closing a hatch in the floor to the stairs below. The brown carpet had been rolled up in one end and he grabbed it, rolling it out and covering the hatch in the floor neatly. James slowly got up on his elbows and managed to sit up, but he was still dizzy and found himself tilting helplessly to the side. Luckily the wall stopped his fall and he turned a little and leaned his back against it. The room was spinning and he looked up at the man who had now turned towards him, a broad smile covering his face. He knelt down next to him and grabbed a hold of his chin, lifting his head upwards a little.

"I see what she's on about," he said and studied James' face. James was blinking rapidly, trying to focus. There was a hint of something predatory in the man’s voice that made James' gut twist and turn with an icy sense of dread. The man rubbed his thumb against his jaw line softly, his glance piercing and demanding. In response James tried to turn his head away but this only caused the man to tighten his grip more.

"Sshh, sshhh...." he said and placed his thumb on James' lower lip, eagerly examining the texture of it. Trembling James could only sit there and let him, because his body wouldn't obey him and the wall behind him wasn't budging. He let out a grunt of discomfort.

"I can't wait for my turn," the man said lowly, pressing his thumb slightly in between James' lips. Feeling like he was going to be sick James shook his head as much as the man would allow him to. With great effort he lifted up his hand to push him away, but the man merely grinned patronizingly.

"Go ahead, princess. Resist all you like..." he chuckled and grabbed a handful of James' hair, forcing his head to the side.

"I wonder what you can do with that pretty mouth of yours," he said, sounding almost lost in thought. Shivering James' nostrils flared with anger and disgust, yet still he couldn't find the strength to punch or kick the man - or even turn away.

"Go to hell," James spat. The man tightened his grip further and twisted the handful of hair, smiling viciously. He clicked his tongue while watching James squirm below him, grimacing and helplessly trying to get him to back off. Suddenly the familiar clicking of high heels sounded somewhere nearby and the man let out a huff. Slowly he loosened his grip.

"Later..." he whispered menacingly and finally let go of James, sending him a smile that made him cringe. With a swift movement he cuffed his hands behind his back once more, one cuff still being attached to his left wrist. In the same moment the blonde woman stepped into the hallway in her high heels.

"Oh, there you are," she smiled while correcting a blonde bun on top of her head, fidgeting with an elastic band. She directed her glance at the man who was getting up from his kneeling position on the carpet.

"Go get the car ready," she ordered and tugged a little at the hem of her tight fitted pencil dress, making sure it hugged every curve perfectly. Her order was received with a nod and the man made his way into another room through a second door at the end of the hallway, not hesitating for a second. Leaning his head against the wall James couldn't help but wonder how much she had to be paying him. As he looked up at her he couldn't get his eyes to focus properly - he kept seeing double as if he had been binge drinking hard liquor for hours. Inhaling deeply he closed his eyes instead. The clicking of heels let him know that she was approaching him. Then warm and moist air hit his face and he felt the tip of a nail trailing down the side of his cheek.

"Aww, poor baby," she hummed in his ear. "You'll feel better soon, I promise," she said softly. He could feel her rummaging about with something around his neck. Drowsily he opened his eyes a little only to find himself staring directly at her face. She smiled at him almost caringly while tugging at whatever she was fiddling with around his neck and James looked down.

"For safety," the woman smiled as she stuffed something into his mouth. It tasted like old dust. And James remembered the blue scarf that she had gagged him with earlier. He had forgotten about it completely but apparently it had been hanging around his neck ever since. A muffled grunt escaped him as she tightened the knot behind his head.

"I'm sorry, honey. But we can't have you making any noise on our way there, now can we?" she smiled and cupped his face with her hands, staring down at him with a weird devotion in her glance that sent chills down his spine. For a moment she just looked at him and silence fell while she studied his face. With heavy-lidded eyes he averted his glance in protest and let out a small huff, but his body didn't follow suit. Instead he just sat there slumped against the wall, defenseless and feeling almost paralyzed.

"Get away from him!" a voice suddenly said, piercing the silence abruptly in the hallway. The woman immediately spun around, snapping her head to the side to look in the direction of the sound. A shiver ran through James and shocked he raised his glance to find out who was there. The voice had sounded familiar but in his drug-fueled haze he couldn't place it. As he looked at the figure standing in the hallway door it took some seconds for his vision to adjust enough for him to see just a little clearly. James' glance then fixed on a gun in the man's hand, pointed at the woman. He blinked in surprise. When he looked up the blurry lines that made up the man's face turned a little sharper. Instantly James heard himself let out something that resembled a whimper behind the gag. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"I said, get away from him!!" Michael growled and stepped out into the hallway, gun pointed at the blonde who was slowly getting up with her hands slightly raised into the air. Behind her James was staring at him, unable to comprehend what was going on. Was he hallucinating?

"Michael..." the blonde began, cautiously taking a small step in his direction. Instantly Michael reached out his free hand and grabbed a hold of one of her wrists, pulling her towards him and away from James. She let out a small yelp as he yanked her across the hallway.

"What did you do to him?!" Michael spat with a fury in his voice that James had never heard before. Drowsily he wanted to scramble to his feet while supporting himself against the wall - but his efforts only turned into a few weak movements of his legs. Still leaning the back of his head against the wall he let out a frustrated moan, muffled by the scarf in his mouth. In front of him Michael had the woman pinned against the door frame.

"Everything he's been dreaming of!" she screamed angrily and suddenly smacked her elbow into Michael's side, completely ignoring the gun pointed at her. A pained hiss escaped him and he almost lost his grip on her for a second. During that one second she managed to try and reach for the gun in his hand. With a roar he immediately pulled back, letting go of her and pushing her away from him. As a result she flew backwards and smacked her head into the door frame with a loud sound, sending her tumbling to the ground. She landed on the carpet with a thud and didn't move. Baffled and unsure if this was real or not James looked up at Michael wide-eyed, still trying to get his body to obey the instructions his brain was sending it. But he was still slumped against the wall and didn't have the energy or strength to get to his feet.

"James...!" Michael burst out and hurried across the small hallway, stepping over the woman's unconscious body.

"Thank god I found you!" he said as he quickly approached James to kneel down in front of him. Michael's facial expression was an intense mix of fear and relief while James was looking completely baffled, still struggling with figuring out if this was some kind of mirage or real life. How could Michael possibly have found him? Were the drugs teasing him? A hundred choppy thoughts and questions were racing through his mind. But as Michael came closer and they locked in eye contact James couldn't help but let out an involuntary sob into the scarf. Because the look in those eyes and the warmth they radiated couldn't be a hallucination. It simply wasn't possible. A fatigued but genuine smile would have formed on James' lips if it wasn't for the gag and weakly he tried to move towards Michael. He found that he wasn't moving much, only tilting a little. But this was real. By the thought of it tears were forming in James' eyes and his heart was beating so fast that he thought he might be passing out.

"What did she do to you?" Michael whispered as he started to kneel down, grabbing James' shoulders and squeezing them carefully. All he wanted to do was to scoop him up into his arms and get him to safety, but as he looked at James' face it felt like his heart was going to burst. The smaller man looked beyond hurt. Not only did cuts and bruises cover his pale skin, but his blue eyes were glazed over in a way that made Michael's stomach turn. He didn't just look drugged. He looked... broken. As he looked James in the eye it was like looking at a hurt animal and he thought he could feel his instinctive urge to pull away. And as he leaned down further and finally knelt in front of him James' eyes suddenly widened in fear, his pupils contracting into small dots that made the blue in his eyes almost seem fluorescent. He was retreating. Like he was trying to push himself through the wall and away from him, shaking his head in a panic.

"James, James...!" Michael said as softly as he could, trying to calm the man in front of him down enough to at least remove the scarf. But even though Michael had let go of his shoulders, James was still trying to back away feverishly. Panicky he screamed something incoherent into the scarf. Then suddenly Michael realized that James wasn't looking at him - he was looking at something behind him. All of a sudden he felt the presence of someone else in the hallway and Michael sucked in air as he spun around. He managed to catch a glimpse of a familiar face just before something hard hit him in the temple, sending him flying sideways while an explosion of pain rolled through him and sparkly white stars spread before his eyes. Time seemed to slow down as he felt himself almost glide through the air before colliding with a chest of drawers, smashing into it and sending the knick knacks on top of it tumbling to the ground. Michael then found himself staring at a small glass figurine lying on the brown carpet in front of his face. He was on his side and for a moment he wasn't sure where he was. Something warm was trickling from a cut in his temple and the room spun around like a carousel. He opened and closed his right hand automatically, realizing that the gun wasn't there anymore - he must have dropped it somewhere. Then the figurine gave off a shrill crackle as it was crushed under the sole of a boot that entered his field of vision. He felt a tug on the neck of his coat when someone was roughly pulling him upwards.

"Come here, you," someone said in an angry voice as Michael was pulled up and slammed backwards into the chest of drawers. A strong set of hands had closed tightly around the fabric of his collar and as Michael looked up he found himself staring at the driver from the park.

 

 


	10. When the Tables Turn

 

"Thought you could play the hero, huh?" the man said, shaking Michael aggressively by his collar. Blinking Michael tried to get the feeling of being on board a carousel to vanish and he narrowed his eyes at the man. Nearby he could hear James whimpering and by the mere sound of it the carousel seemed to slow down a little bit, anger immediately washing through him. While Michael's glance was fixed at the driver's face his hands were trying to steady his body by grabbing a hold of the edge of the top of the chest of drawers behind his back.  
  


"Look where that got ya. Now I get to smash your head in while your boyfriend watches," the driver said in a menacing voice, a wide grin curling the corners of his mouth upwards. Michael narrowed his eyes more, unable to conceal the fuming anger exploding within him. The horrified, muffled noises coming from James nearby only fueled it further and within a split second Michael had kneed the man between the legs, sending him tumbling backwards with a loud yelp. As he fell backwards his arms were flailing helplessly, a thin spray of saliva spewed into the air from his mouth as he cried out in pain. The opposite wall broke his fall and caught him as he smacked into it with his back first, almost knocking the wind out of him. Still leaned against the chest of drawers Michael immediately straightened up, uttering a small groan when sharp pulses of pain shot through his head from his bruised temple. Looking around he desperately tried to locate the missing gun, but at first glance it seemed to have vanished. All he could see was brown carpet. By the wall in front of him the driver was cupping his privates, heaving for air as he was groaning incoherent profanities. But he was already starting to advance at Michael again, threateningly hunchbacked and teeth exposed in a mix between a snarl and a pained grimace. Looking around for any sort of weapon Michael came up short - instead he readied his fists as he glared at the approaching man.

  
"The police are on their way!" Michael yelled angrily, not so much directed at the driver but to assure James that help was coming. An aggravated grunt escaped the man as he readied his fists as well. Circling each other the two of them had to step over the blonde woman's unconscious body on the floor without tripping as they kept locked in eye contact. The driver's face was contorted in aggression while Michael's was almost expressionless. Only his eyes revealed a vicious sparkling of fury.

  
"I'll fucking kill you!" the driver hissed and threw a punch at Michael. Barely managing to duck Michael ended up entangled in coats and jackets at the end of the hallway, stumbling on shoes on the floor in order to duck the blow. The driver eyed a chance and instantly threw another punch which hit Michael in the shoulder when he tried to avoid it. Pain shot through him and furiously he tore at the clothes inhibiting his movements, tearing them off their hooks. With a roar he bolted forwards, smashing his body into the driver and sending them both tumbling to the floor. Michael landed on top of the driver just as he had hoped and immediately he raised his fist in the air and delivered a hard blow to the man's cheekbone, snapping his head to the side with a loud smack. A surprised groan escaped the driver who in return punched Michael in the side, driving his fist almost in between his ribs. Michael let out a moan through his teeth, small stars suddenly floating around in his field of vision from the pain. The driver's hands had closed around his neck all of a sudden, pulling him downwards while tightening their grip, cutting off his air. A choked sound escaped Michael and he grabbed a hold of the driver's wrists, trying to wrench them off - but they weren't budging and Michael felt a sense of panic starting to spread when a broad grin formed on the driver's face below him. Black tunnel vision started to spread in a thin fog before his eyes, turning steadily thicker. He knew that something had to happen if he wasn't going to pass out and feverishly he tore at the man's hands and tried to knee him in the sides. But he couldn't get him to let go and his attempts to hit him with his knees were futile, the angle being too awkward. By now it was clear that the driver knew that he had the upper hand, a low grin escaping him as his eyes narrowed and his hands tightened their grip even more. Squeezing his eyes shut Michael dug his nails into the skin on the man's wrists in response, instantly drawing blood. Surprised the man let out a hiss and at the same moment Michael flung his head down, smashing his forehead directly into the driver's nose. The collision gave off a sickening, cracking sound and the driver let out a shrill howl when blood instantly spurted from his nose in a jet. Automatically he let go of Michael's neck and covered his broken nose with both hands, desperately trying to shield it as he rolled on to his side. Simultaneously Michael tumbled to the ground, sucking in huge gulps of air in between hoarse coughs.

  
"Fuck...!!" the driver wailed as he scrambled to get to his knees only to fall back down. Next to him Michael was trying to get up as well while wheezing for air and reaching for an umbrella he had spotted by the mess of torn coats and shoes on the carpet. Crawling forwards on his elbows he was closing in on the potential weapon, moving past the howling man whose blood was staining the brown carpet in sticky, dark blotches. The driver didn't put much effort into stopping him. Instead he was rolling back and forth on the floor while letting out small, agonized grunts. He did try to grab a hold of Michael's ankle as he crawled past him, but lost his grip almost instantly when Michael kicked at him. While Michael kept heaving for air and the oxygen levels in his system were starting to normalize, he managed to finally get up on his knees to grab a hold of the folded umbrella. It had a wooden crook handle and the ferrule was thin and sharp and for a moment Michael couldn't decide which end of it to use. The grunting behind him was starting to cease which meant that the driver was probably getting ready for another round. Michael hurried to grab a hold of the end of the umbrella, ready to swing the thick, wooden handle at his opponent's head with all of the force he could muster.

  
"Stop right there!" a voice suddenly ordered loudly. Quickly Michael turned his head, his hand firmly closed around the umbrella's end and ready to swing. Baffled he stared at the mouth of a gun pointed at him. He froze. For a moment the silvery firearm seemed to be the only thing in the room that was completely sharp and in focus. Then he gazed at the face hiding behind it and an ice cold shiver ran through him. The blonde woman had got up on her knees, supporting herself with one hand on the carpet while pointing the gun directly at Michael. Her eyes were wide open and the blonde bun on top of her head was a mess, stained with tiny blood spatters from when she had hit the door frame. At some point during his struggle with the driver she must have woken up and found the gun without Michael even registering it. Silently he cursed himself in his mind and tightened his grip around the umbrella even more. Next to him the driver was getting up on his knees as well, glaring furiously at Michael while sniffling a little, his nose still oozing blood. Shaking with anger more than fear Michael's glance darted from the gun to the driver. He couldn't give up now. He simply couldn't. Shortly Michael looked at James who was still slumped against the wall but with eyes much more alert than earlier. A lump formed in Michael's throat and his glance darted back to the driver.

  
"Don't even think about it," the woman said lowly and narrowed her bloodshot eyes at him. Even though blood was running in streams down the driver's face he still uttered a sputtering chuckle as he turned towards Michael. Triumphantly he looked from the umbrella in Michael's hands to his eyes and back again, clearly waiting impatiently for him to put his weapon down. Indecisive Michael couldn't help but direct his focus at James. He was looking back at him with watering eyes, a small sound trapped between his mouth and the gag. Even though no words were formed Michael knew what he wanted to say. With a small shudder he didn't resist when the driver closed his fingers around the umbrella and tore it out of his hands, sending it flying through the hallway. It landed with a clatter somewhere by the wall. A desperate sense of defeat washed through Michael like a raging tidal wave, leaving him feeling close to paralyzed while all color drained from his face. A sly smile spread on the woman's lips. She then redirected her glance to look at the driver.

  
"We have to get outta dodge. Get James in the car. I'll take care of this one," she said dryly and cocked the hammer on the gun with a sharp, metallic click before settling her glance on Michael once again. A dark gleam was in her eyes while she stared at him, her facial expression blank and void of emotions. A choked sound came from James by the wall. Immediately the driver got to his feet, still sniffling rather loudly while he carefully wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his hand. Passing by Michael he glanced down at him shortly while letting out a patronizing huff. Michael couldn't help but to send the man an icy glare, refusing to cower. By the wall James was frantically trying to back away, heels digging into the carpet, which this time caused him to tilt sideways and land on his side. Some of his strength seemed to have returned because he was able to almost get up on his knees before falling back down. He landed awkwardly on his stomach, trying to wriggle his hands out of the cuffs behind his back. When the driver grabbed a hold of him he let out a loud yell into the scarf in his mouth which made Michael’s insides turn into one big, icy knot. His heart sank. The sound of James' voice was almost unrecognizable in all of its fear, frustration and anger. Utter panic.

  
"Don't throw a tantrum, James. We don't have time for this," the blonde said flatly. The driver had grabbed a hold of his arm and tried to pull him up from the floor, but he was kicking and turning violently. Lifting his legs up from the floor he was trying to make himself as heavy as he could and making it difficult to move him. The woman let out an irritated sigh and suddenly grabbed a handful of his hair and roughly pulled his head upwards to look at her, the gun still pointed firmly at Michael.

  
"Or would you rather watch?" she asked, sending James a stare that pierced him to the bone. With watery eyes James glared back at her. Every fiber in his body was screaming with fear and fury and he couldn't decide which of the two feelings was the dominant one. Which one he was most prone to give in to. He yelled something into the scarf, but it was too muffled to be deciphered. The woman let out an indifferent sound and let go of James' hair, returning her full attention to Michael who was still sitting on his knees on the carpet, not daring to move. The driver was straining to pull and drag James across the hallway, his heels digging so hard into the carpet that it was lifted up and pulled half way with them into the living room. The blonde ignored the racket and pursed her red lips while narrowing her eyes at Michael. Focusing she corrected her aim a little. Michael exhaled deeply as his body tensed up when all of a sudden the sound of police sirens reached their ears. The focused look on the woman's face was suddenly replaced by a surprised one and she snapped her head to the side to look at the front door. Through the thick and dense frosted glass it was hard to see anything, but within seconds blue and red lights shimmered and reflected in the glass.

  
"Merde...!!" she burst out and ran to the doorway to the living room, careful to keep the gun aimed at Michael. She stuck her head into the other room.

  
"Change of plans! Get back here!" she yelled. Immediately she turned her head back to look at Michael, her chest heaving rapidly. With a long stride she covered the gap between them.

  
"You fucking asshole!" she yelled and planted a solid kick with the nose of her pointy stiletto in Michael's stomach. With a hiss he doubled over and landed with a thud on the carpet as the wind was knocked out of him. She turned her head towards the living room again.

  
"Lock the garage and draw all curtains!" she barked in a shrill voice. In front of her on the floor Michael was slowly trying to get up on his elbows. With an eerie sense of calm to her movements she walked closer to him, studying his attempts to get back up while gasping for air.

  
"You just had to ruin it..." she whispered and stopped inches away from him. The gun in her hand was still pointed at him but she was no longer focused on aiming. With his face red from pain and anger Michael looked up at her, stubbornly trying to get back up even though he couldn't breathe properly yet. His hands were placed on the carpet as he tried to support his weight.

  
"Fuck you," he hissed under his breath, not breaking eye contact. As a response she furrowed her brows ever so slightly, a sinister twinkle in her eyes. Slowly she lifted her leg up a little, almost brushing his face with her thigh before putting the heel of her red stiletto down on top of his hand. Before he could move it she applied some weight to it, digging the thin, metal-capped heel into his skin. Looking down Michael suppressed a yelp. It came out as a small, choked sound instead. Even though he could feel the cold steel mouth of the gun press against the back of his neck he could only focus on the agonizing pain in his hand. Then she applied more weight. This time he couldn't suppress a groan. Desperately he grabbed a hold of her ankle with his other hand, trying to ease the pressure - but this only caused her to apply all of the weight she could muster. A cracking sound came and Michael let out a choked yelp when he felt something in his hand break. Squeezing his eyes shut he let go of her ankle and squirmed helplessly on the carpet. A chuckle escaped her. But her facial expression quickly turned back into a hard and serious one when there were three loud knocks on the door. She lifted her stiletto off of Michael's hand and he quickly he pulled his injured limb back and cradled it with his other one, instinctively protecting it.

  
"Police! Open the door!" a male voice shouted on the other side of the front door. His shadow seemed tall and dense through the frosted glass. Quickly the blonde stepped behind Michael and pulled him up by grabbing his hair, pressing the gun against his temple.

  
"Stay out or I kill them both!" she yelled in an oddly calm voice. The officer's shadow seemed to freeze for a moment. Then he lifted his hand and the low sound of what had to be a walkie talkie could be heard. Through the buzzing noise and the hammering of his own pulse Michael couldn't pick up on what was said. The blonde yanked him by the hair slightly.

  
"Consider yourself lucky. Your status has just been upgraded from corpse to hostage," she spat bitterly from behind him. Michael's nostrils flared in contempt while trying to ignore the searing pain radiating from his injured hand. He noticed that the officer behind the frosted glass had disappeared and he turned his head as much as he could when some sounds caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye he could see movement. Immediately his pulse skyrocketed. Then the driver appeared in the doorway to the living room. Nervously Michael's glance automatically darted past him, trying to locate James who had to have been left somewhere in there.

  
"Que faire?" the driver asked lowly, directing his attention to the woman.

  
"Did you cover all windows and lock all doors?" she asked and he nodded in return. The blonde smiled slightly. Then her eyes narrowed.

  
"Well, apparently Michael here doesn't want to play nice... You brought some friends along, didn't you?" she said and tugged at his hair again, making him look at her. He suppressed the urge to let out a huff when she pressed the gun even harder against his already bruised temple.

  
"Yes, you just had to involve the police. And you'll have to pay for that. What do you think a suitable punishment would be, Michael? Mmm...?" she asked in a silky voice while she started to caress the side of his face with the mouth of the gun threateningly. In the same moment the phone in the living room rang and everyone froze as the shrill sound pierced the silence. The blonde leaned her head back a little end let out a grin.

  
"Oh, here your friends are now, Michael!" she said and finally let go of his hair. 

  
"Well, let's play!" she snarled and lifted her glance to look at the driver.

  
"Get him in there. I'll talk to them," she spat and walked towards the living room which was shrouded in semi-darkness. Michael swallowed as he followed her with his eyes, the gun still pointed at him. The driver quickly stepped forwards and yanked him up by one arm, pulling him to his feet and shoving him into the living room, following closely behind the woman who led the way. Once inside the other room Michael immediately looked around for James. It didn't take long to find him. He was lying in a heap on the floor by a sofa and a coffee table, facing him. Even though he wasn't moving much Michael could see a small shimmer of light from the hallway reflecting in his eyes, letting him know that he was awake. Small movements in the dim light revealed that he was still trying to wriggle his hands out of the cuffs, but his attempts were not as determined as before. He looked exhausted. Even in this light Michael could clearly see the fatigued look on his face, his pale skin whiter than he had ever seen before.

 

 

 


	11. The Negotiation

"Yes," the woman said into the cell phone just as the driver pushed Michael into a deep, beige armchair at the end of the coffee table. He plopped down on the cushion not taking his eyes off James for a second. Still cradling his aching hand he was completely focused on James even though the driver was staring him down.   
  


"No, can't do," the woman continued and placed the gun on a dresser, fishing out a cigarette from a drawer. Squeezing the phone between her ear and shoulder she managed to light the cigarette and took a deep drag of it.

  
"You're a negotiator. That means you have to negotiate," she said and a plume of gray smoke seeped out of her mouth as she spoke. 

  
"Now you listen and you listen good. I want an armored car and free passage to the nearest airport. In return I can give you a hostage once we get there. But only if you play nice," she said, casting a quick, annoyed glance at Michael. Walking around in small circles while talking on the phone she was smoking the cigarette so hard that the tip was one long piece of glowing ashes.

  
"No. Call me back when you have what I want. And no tricks!" she hissed into the phone before putting it down angrily, smacking it down on the dresser. For a moment silence fell. Her chest was heaving rapidly and with a frustrated movement she tried to correct the messy bun on top of her head but quickly seemed to give up. With a sigh she turned and looked at Michael, picking the gun back up.

  
"Look at me, you son of a bitch," she said flatly when she noticed that Michael's eyes were fixed on James. Reluctantly Michael convinced himself to do as she said and returned her gaze. For a second or two they just stared at each other while the blonde stubbed out the cigarette in a metal ash tray on the dresser, not breaking eye contact.

  
"Why do we need an armored car?" the driver suddenly asked. Closing her eyes slowly the woman let out an irritated sigh. Seemingly annoyed she looked at ham shortly as if he was an obnoxious child pestering her.

  
"We don't," she then said while approaching Michael. Slowing down she stopped right in front of him, a smile suddenly decorating her red lips. She placed one hand on each side of his head on the top of the back rest behind him. With the gun in one hand she leaned down to look directly at him. He had to fight not to look away when she smirked at him and leaned forwards even more, tilting her head a little as she studied his face.

  
"Then why did you say..." the driver began, but she immediately snapped her head to the side to glare at him.

  
"Because we need to buy ourselves some time, you idiot!" she hissed. Silence fell once more and she turned her head back to look at Michael. The gun in her hand was slightly resting its barrel behind his ear and she bit her lip.

  
"Mmm..." she hummed as she leaned in and placed a small kiss below his ear. Even though Michael stayed physically unresponsive he couldn't help the nauseating feeling running through him by her touch. He suppressed a shudder trying to roll through him and reveal his disgust.

  
  
"I would've never thought..." the blonde said and looked from Michael to James on the floor.

  
"You hide it well," she said and placed another kiss on the side of his neck.

  
"I guess a lot of ladies out there will be terribly disappointed once they find out that you... Don't swing that way," she whispered in his ear.

  
"Or maybe you like both?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious. Michael ignored her question, but this only seemed to intrigue her more. Suddenly she had placed herself on his lap, her knees digging into the cushions on each side of his hips and her cleavage almost pressed against his face. A small grunt of discomfort escaped him. She chuckled.

  
"Do you?" she purred and brushed the gun slightly against his hair and the skin behind his ear. Not intimidated Michael glared at her.

  
"None of your damn business," he said, not breaking eye contact. She looked surprised for a moment.

  
"Oooh!" she grinned, sounding almost impressed by his defiance. There was a shimmer in her eyes that Michael couldn't interpret and she leaned in more, making the tips of their noses almost touch.

  
"Let's find out then," she said and softly pressed her lips against his. Caught by surprise Michael turned his head to the side, breaking the kiss - but immediately he felt the mouth of the gun pressing against his temple.

  
"Ah-ah," the blonde said, guiding his head back with her free hand. He had no choice but to follow and immediately her lips were on his again, kissing him in an oddly soft manner that would normally leave any man feeling weak in the knees. Her free hand then travelled down his torso and slipped into his pants. Suppressing the urge to push her away Michael let her. She kept kissing him while her hand found its way down his briefs, fondling him.

  
"Not much going on down here," she said, breathing heavily against his lips in between kisses. At this point Michael had to fight to contain the anger and disgust welling up inside of him and he found it extremely difficult not to turn away or throw her off of him.

  
"You're despicable," he said lowly. She giggled as she removed her hand from his pants and placed it on the side of his neck almost passionately. Then - with no warning - she crashed her lips down on his, kissing him viciously compared to the soft kisses only moments ago. Somewhere next to them Michael could hear the driver letting out an amused laugh. Apparently he found the whole thing funny.

  
"Oww!" Michael hissed when the blonde suddenly bit down on his lower lip and he couldn't help but jump a little in the seat. Sucking on his lip the blonde let out a laugh before she let go.

  
"I guess you only play for one team then..." she said matter-of-factly and finally got to her feet, moving away from him while correcting her dress, which had slid up her thighs a little. Shocked Michael felt how something warm was slowly trickling from his lip and he wanted to lift up his hand to find out if it indeed was blood - but the sudden jab of pain exploding in his hurt hand immediately made him change his mind. Instead he returned to cradling his hand against his chest and let it stay there. His gaze then fixed on James again.

  
"Can I go see if he's alright?" Michael carefully asked. His entire body was aching to just hold James, to hug him tight and protect him. It was hard to not jump out of the armchair and just do it without permission but he knew that that wouldn't be a good idea. For any of them. The blonde placed her free hand in her side, looking at him rather indifferently while dangling the gun from her right hand by her index finger in a casual manner.

  
"No," she said shortly, placing the gun back on the dresser and lighting up another cigarette. Michael felt like screaming at her from the top of his lungs in frustration, but he tried the best he could to keep himself calm.

  
"Please, just let..." he started, but the woman interrupted.

  
"I said no. However..." she said, taking a deep drag of the smoke while leaning against the dresser. Michael frowned, looking up at her questioningly.

  
"Since you so formidably ruined our plans I will let you watch," she said, cocking her eyebrow at him while sending him a skew smile.

  
"What?" Michael asked, confusion painted on his face. A chuckle escaped the blonde.

  
"See, I promised Martin here a turn. And since you decided to come along and end our fun prematurely I will have no choice but to grant him his wish now," she said and narrowed her eyes a little. Shaking his head slowly Michael looked at her perplexed, while an eerie feeling started to creep and crawl like bugs on his skin, making every hair stand up.

  
"A turn at what?" he asked, his voice close to a whisper. To his amazement the woman winked at him, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke into the room.

  
"Your little boyfriend here, of course," she grinned. Feeling shivers run through him and his gut painfully twisting by her words Michael immediately motioned to get up from the chair. The driver's broad hand quickly clasped itself onto his shoulder and pressed him back down into the seat as he tried to get up. With a snarl Michael tore himself free from his grasp, but had no choice but to stay in the chair because in front of him the woman had directed the gun at him once more.

  
"Temper, temper...!" she said, still with a smile plastered confidently on her lips. Michael glared at her, unable to control his breathing. All he wanted to do right now was to wipe that smile off her face and...

  
"Consider THAT your punishment," the blonde smirked and let out a loud, theatrical laugh. Hyperventilating Michael turned his attention to the driver who was now moving away from him, headed for James.

  
"Don't!" Michael burst out, reaching out to grab a hold of him but missing him by inches. This time the searing pain in his broken hand didn't even cause him to flinch even though it was pulsating wildly through his flesh from the movement. The click from the gun's hammer being cocked forced him to stay in the chair, preventing him from getting up to stop him. Feverishly Michael looked back at the woman.

  
"Please, don't... Don't do this," he said, eyes watering up.

  
"You only have yourself to thank," she just said, putting out the cigarette. On the floor James was staring wide-eyed at the man approaching him, trying to get up. Terror flashed in his blue eyes as he backed away, abandoning his plans to get to his feet when Martin came too close and started to reach for him. Scrambling to move away from him James ended up backing into some chairs by a dining table, knocking one of them over loudly.

  
"Come here, princess," Martin said, bending down when James almost disappeared under the dining table. He managed to grab a hold of his ankle and started to pull him out from under the table, kicking and screaming into the scarf.

  
"Stop, you can't do this...!!" Michael yelled, his body tense and ready to leap at any moment should the woman lower her guard. His glance was darting around to find a weapon, any sort of weapon. If he got the chance he didn't care if he got shot and killed - if he could only take them with him.

  
"Oh, but I can," she said, keeping the gun aimed at him carefully. She smiled a crooked smile which made her red lipstick glisten in the dim light. At the same moment Martin had pulled out James completely from under the table and had grabbed him by the neck, forcing him with him towards the sofa set. With a predatory roar the driver wiped the coffee table free of its decor with a swift movement of his arm, candles and remote controls tumbling to the ground with a loud sound. Glass from the candle holders shattered as they hit the floor, shards flying. James kicked at his attacker, but within seconds he was slammed down face first onto the coffee table. With his arms fixed behind his back he almost couldn't breathe when he felt the driver's weight on top of him, pinning him against the table top.

  
"No!!" Michael yelled, hands half way lifted into the air, half way trying to reach for James. He was only a few feet away from him, struggling on the coffee table, and Michael wasn't sure if he was going to be sick by the look of pure terror on James' face. He was right there! And he couldn't help him...! The feeling of having to throw up intensified and Michael felt tears starting to flow freely from his eyes.

  
"Please...!" he cried, trembling while frozen in a position between sitting in the armchair and being halfway on his feet. The scarf was muffling James' yelling, but the driver had grabbed a hold of it while he was pressing him down against the table plate. For a moment he looked up at the blonde almost as if he was looking for a sign of approval.

  
"I want to hear him scream," Martin said and the blonde nodded. Quickly the driver pulled the scarf out of James' mouth and down over his chin, returning it to its hanging position around his neck. Heaving for air James let out a gasp when Martin pulled his head back by grabbing his hair.

  
"I'm really gonna enjoy this..." he whispered in James' ear while his free hand squeezed his shoulder. James let out something that resembled a whimper. In the armchair next to the coffee table Michael was squirming helplessly, desperately waiting for a chance to interfere. But the blonde's gaze was locked on him and the gun leveled at him wasn't wavering in the slightest, but was pointed directly at him.

  
"Please, no...!!" James cried when Martin's free hand started to pull at the waistband of his jeans roughly, eager to expose him. The man was breathing heavily against the back of his neck, the warm and moist air hitting his skin in rapid gusts. A feeling of horror washed through James when he felt an unmistakable hardness press against his backside from behind when the driver leaned down further.  
  
  
  



	12. Punishment

 

The driver let out a slightly strained grin while he pressed James harder against the table top, preventing him from kicking and turning too violently. The weight the man applied almost squeezed the wind out of his lungs. Subdued and unable to move James heaved for air as he tore at the cuffs behind his back - the only part of him that he was still somewhat able to move. His face was turned to the side, facing the woman who had lit another cigarette and was watching the scene from a distance while casually leaning against the dresser. She seemed completely indifferent. But a slightly sadistic gleam in her eye made her carefree behavior even more terrifying and the way she was looking at him made James cringe.

 

"Yes, that's it," Martin groaned as he tightened his grip on the waistband of James’ jeans and tore at it hard. The sound of the zipper and fabric tearing was loud and seemed almost surreal. For a few seconds the driver lifted himself up a little and quickly pulled James' jeans down and off, exposing his naked buttocks. James squirmed and kicked while he had to opportunity to do so, but the man seemed unimpressed by his attempt to break free. A grin was his only response. There was soft rattling sound when the jeans landed in a pile somewhere on the floor. Martin was quick and grabbed James' hips, pulling him across the table plate towards himself with a swift movement. James found that he was suddenly with his knees on the floor while his torso was pressed down on the coffee table. The man pressed himself against him from behind once more to keep him still. The air in the room felt cold against James' exposed skin, goose bumps forming everywhere on his body. His cheeks burned and his eyes watered up from the degrading position he was in - completely and utterly exposed. And scared beyond belief.

 

"Don't, I'm begging you, I'll do anything...!" Michael was yelling somewhere close by, but the blonde leaning against the dresser just shrugged and tapped the ashes off the cigarette. The gun was firmly pointed at Michael while she watched the driver press himself against James.

 

"I'd really like to fuck that pretty mouth of yours, but I don't quite trust you, princess!" Martin grunted and suddenly James heard the unmistakable, metallic rattle of a belt buckle being opened. Terrified he wrestled to get away, but he couldn't move an inch.

 

"Don't!" he choked, pulling helplessly at the cuffs, digging the metal into his skin and drawing blood. Then there was the sound of a zipper opening. The sound instantly sent icy shivers through him and for a second he froze in terror, suddenly not sure if this was a nightmare or real life. But the drugs in his system had completely evaporated by now, leaving him terrifyingly sober and painfully aware of what was happening. This was real. James sucked in a gulp of air when he felt something warm being rubbed against his buttock. Then what had to be a hand was placed on his hip, digging its fingers into his skin hard enough to bruise.

 

"Ready for me, sweetheart?" Martin groaned from behind him and James could hear him spitting - probably into his hand to try and lube himself up. James let out a choked sound and a tear fought its way out of the corner of his eye and rolled down his cheek.

 

"Don't... Don't..." he could hear himself say repeatedly, almost chanting. His own voice sounded oddly unfamiliar to him all of a sudden. Desperate. In the same moment something touched him, pressing against his entrance and he jumped - but it became nothing more than a small twitch. The weight on top of him seemed suffocating and the feeling intensified tenfold when the driver leaned down over him further. The pressure increased and a throaty groan escaped the man behind him.

 

"Come on, let me in..." he said and pressed harder. James let out a gasp and squeezed his eyes shut when pain instantly started to ripple through him when his clenched muscle was starting to give in to the pressure. His entire body was completely tense, shaking from shock.

 

"No...!" he cried, closing his trapped hands into milky white fists behind his back, his nails digging painfully into his palms as a desperate attempt to try and distract himself. To feel something else. To distance himself. But he stayed all too aware of what was happening to his body right here and right now despite of his efforts. And the pressure only increased, making every fiber in his body writhe in pain.  

 

"Please...!!!" James cried. The hard flesh pressing itself against his hole felt like a red hot poker and James let out an agonized yelp when the tip slid inside him. He felt his walls being forcefully stretched, a searing pain exploding within him and spreading like wildfire throughout his body. The driver pressed himself against him relentlessly, increasing the pressure further - and his cock slowly slid inside him, burying itself in him to the base of the shaft. James bared his teeth in a silent scream, his eyes screwed shut. As Martin leaned down over him and started nibbling on his ear he could hear Michael let out a strange sound close by. It sounded like a wounded animal. He was pleading. His voice sounded so desperate and James couldn’t hold back a ragged sob.

 

"Fuck, yes...!" Martin groaned as he started to pull back out a little. James felt like his insides were being torn to shreds.

 

"God, you're so tight," Martin moaned in his ear and buried himself again, this time faster. The intrusion sent a wave of excruciating pain through James and a whimper escaped him. His lips were forming the word 'please' over and over, but no sound was coming out. It was like his body and mind had stopped obeying him. While he was being penetrated again and again the driver was breathing in his ear, letting out a moan with each thrust. Suddenly James discovered that he had stopped moving, had stopped resisting. With his eyes still screwed shut his body had gone limp. Like a ragdoll.

 

"I beg you! Please stop!" Michael cried desperately, tears flowing down his cheeks and his face white as a sheet. Still in an odd position between sitting down in the armchair and standing up he was pleading with the woman. She didn't seem to take much notice. Instead she was watching her accomplice sodomize his victim brutally with an interest that made Michael sick to his stomach. Not sure if he was going to pass out his glance kept shifting from the woman to the coffee table. He had to do something. But he couldn’t help James if he got himself shot and killed on the spot.  

 

"Take me instead!!" Michael yelled feverishly. The woman let out a small giggle.

 

"Oh, you'll get yours, honey," she smiled and put out her cigarette in the metal ash tray, giving off a small hiss. The gun was in her right hand, still pointed straight at him. Michael's pulse was hammering in his head so loudly that he almost couldn't hear her. All he could hear through the hard hammering in his veins was the sound of skin hitting skin and the heartbreaking whimpers coming from James. He had to act, he had to do something. Anything. He couldn't wait any longer. He had already waited too long.

 

"You need help. You know that, right?!" Michael suddenly asked, trying his best to sound as collected a she could and suppress the panic coursing through him. It was an almost impossible task, but the blonde raised her eyebrows a little. Pursing her lips she looked at him.

 

"I mean, proper help," Michael continued, putting emphasis on the word 'proper' and dragging it out in an exaggerated fashion. Instantly the blonde's eyes started to narrow ominously.

 

"What do you know about it?" she said, the dark gleam returning to her gray eyes. Michael tilted his head a little, looking at her while forcing a little, sly smile to form on his lips. Invisibly he took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up but luckily his stomach had been completely empty for a long time now, which was now working in his favor. Otherwise he would have been sick right here and now.

 

"You want to be fucked, don't you?" he then said flatly. Time seemed to freeze as her jaw dropped slightly, her eyes widening in disbelief.

 

"And not by some submissive, little henchman or devoted suitor. No, you need to be fucked hard. By a real man. I could help you with that... HONEY," Michael said, his voice laced with mockery. He narrowed his eyes a little, looking at her surprised face challengingly. Waiting. Painfully waiting while the sounds escaping James threatened to make him completely abandon any plan and just go straight for the gun. But that would be useless. And deadly. For all them, including James. For a moment the blonde seemed to be frozen to the spot, baffled. Then the look in her eyes changed, her facial expression turning back to a controlled one. Michael could see the muscles in her jaw clenching as she glared at him. Even though he was looking at her eyes he kept his focus on the gun in her hand.

 

"Is that so...?" she said and straightened herself up from her leaning position against the dresser. He couldn't quite decipher the expression on her face. But he knew that he had definitely caught her attention and pushed a button somewhere.

 

"Oh, I believe it is," Michael snapped back, but keeping his voice calm. The blonde smacked her lips. Her eyes shimmered as she started to walk towards him slowly, her head tilted slightly.

 

"And you think you're man enough?" she sneered. Michael had sat himself back in the armchair, trying to look at relaxed as he could even though he was trembling from head to toe.

 

"I know I am," he said matter-of-factly, glaring directly back at her with an unimpressed look on his face. She let out a small huff. Somehow she seemed a little hesitant, like he had caught her off guard. A small shimmer of hope appeared somewhere in Michael's mind and he exhaled slowly but loudly as if he was impatient with her.

 

"Or maybe you don't have the guts when it comes down to it?" he said and let out a small grin. The blonde tilted her head a bit more like a curious canine would do before taking a step closer towards the armchair, the gun still directed at Michael in what seemed to be a calm hand. She let out another huff.

 

"What makes you say that?" she asked softly, seemingly still curious. The look on her face was hard to read and when she walked even closer to him Michael involuntarily tensed up slightly. He had to focus in order regain his relaxed facade quickly enough for her not to notice.

 

"Well, you're still dressed, aren't you?" he said tauntingly, letting his voice turn slightly husky. He eyed her up and down expectantly while a small smile appeared on his lips. The woman bit her lower lip a little and returned his gaze. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the dim light.

 

"I was thinking maybe you could help me with that," she said and it sounded like she suppressed a small giggle. Michael struggled not to let his surprise show when she lifted up her left hand, gesturing for him to get up from the chair. Feeling his heart still hammering hard and rapidly in his chest he managed to send her a smile which he hoped looked as confident as he had planned it to be. Careful not to move too quickly nor too slow he got up from the armchair, ignoring that his legs felt like jelly. The rush of blood in his veins was almost deafening. In front of him the blonde had put her hand in her side, clearly waiting for him to approach her. The gun was wavering slightly from its target, but not enough. Not yet. Michael swallowed. He had to act now and he had to do it right. He only had one chance. His plan hadn't gone the way he had hoped though and it had definitely taken an unexpected turn - but he would have to go with it and be creative. Not to mention convincing. He had to if he was going to get James out of here alive. He tried to block out the horrific sounds of the sexual assault happening right next to him in order to concentrate. But he felt incredibly guilty by doing so and he had to suppress the urge to turn around and stop the driver – and get himself shot instantly. He tried to gather himself the best he could and looked at the woman. This felt so wrong. Every instinct in his body was screaming at him. But he had to ignore it, he had to focus. And he had to act. Now.   

 

"Well, well..." he said under his breath and took a step towards the blonde. He didn't dare to go too fast, but if he seemed hesitant that could just as easily get him shot and killed. And how would that help anything? How would it help James? She sent him a smirk.

 

"Fuck me then," she said challengingly. Michael could feel his insides turn in revulsion and he knew that his eyes were ablaze with spite, fear and fury - he just hoped that he could mask it as an intense glare full of lust instead. She looked at him with a curious expectation shimmering in her eyes. This was his cue. With a small hiss he bared his teeth and grabbed a firm hold of her left arm, pushing her backwards to slam against the dresser. She tensed up a little, but so far she had let him. The gun was still in her right hand, but its mouth was starting to dip downwards.

 

"You want it?!" Michael snarled in her ear as he leaned in, holding her in place while cupping her breast through her dress with his free hand, squeezing hard enough for it to hurt. A small pant escaped her. Michael pulled back slightly to send her a glare, but in reality he was keeping track of the gun.

 

"Mmm..." she moaned as he grabbed a hold of the bottom hem of her pencil dress and tore at it, exposing her upper thighs with a swift movement.

 

"Oh, Michael... You didn't seem interested before..." she purred and lifted her free hand to grab a hold of the back of his neck. Her nails dug painfully into his skin and she pulled him closer, breathing in his ear heavily. She was leaning against the dresser and he parted her legs forcefully with his knee, placing a hand on her thigh. Her lavender perfume felt like it stung his nostrils and he knew that he couldn't go much further before she would notice his non-existing erection. He started to pull back a little while he kept kneading her thigh roughly. He had to know where the gun was pointing. But her grip on his neck tightened, pulling him back into the semi-embrace, and he suppressed a groan of frustration. She was breathing rapidly, her chest heaving, and her free hand had begun travelling down his chest towards his belt. Panicky Michael knew that he had to do something and before thinking further he kissed her on the neck, biting into her skin hard enough to cause her to let out a gasp. Her hand stopped moving down his chest and clenched the shirt behind his open coat instead. She tilted her head more, letting him kiss her neck brutally.

 

"Tell me..." she moaned, but trailed off. Michael was placing rough kisses and bites down the side of her neck, leaving the skin red and swollen.

 

"Mmm?" he groaned as he slid his hand up her thigh and up under the dress, grabbing her buttock and squeezing it. Carefully he tried to pull back again to get a glimpse of the gun. This time she let him, but she loosened her grip on his neck only slowly.

 

"How stupid do you think I am?" she suddenly said. Immediately Michael froze. He had pulled back just far enough to be able to look her in the eye - only to find her glaring directly at him, eyes narrowed. She let out a small chuckle, piercing him with her gray glance. Michael wasn't sure if his legs were going to give in under him.

 

"Nice try though," she purred and dug her nails into his the back of his neck again. Still with one hand on her thigh and one on her buttock Michael tensed up. Every fiber in his body was screaming at him to let go. The sounds coming from the sofa set behind him returned tenfold and he wasn't sure if he was going to burst into tears. His plan had failed. He had failed. Frantically his mind started to spin. He had no choice now. He didn't even know where the gun was pointing, but he didn't care. He could feel himself starting to tremble and he glared at her defiantly. She raised an eyebrow mockingly as a smile started to spread on her red lips. She looked like she was about to say something but without warning Michael suddenly let go of her, pulling back slightly while turning his body to the side - and he reached for the gun somewhere in her right hand. Time seemed to slow down. He didn't even feel her nails tearing the skin open on the back of his neck when he pulled away. All he could focus on was the gun. He could hear her letting out an infuriated hiss and he had grabbed a hold of her right forearm while his other hand was trying to tear the gun out of her hand. Split seconds which seemed like an eternity ticked by. As they wrestled Michael smacked her against the dresser, sending the ash tray along with the phone crashing to the floor. They hit the ground with an incredibly loud sound. The sound almost seemed to fill the room as he struggled to wrench the gun from her hand. She was fighting back hard - and suddenly he noticed that the jelly-like feeling had returned to his legs with a vengeance and he sucked in a gulp of air when time returned to its normal pace. The blonde was now staring at him, her eyes wide in something that he couldn't interpret. Then suddenly a lightning bolt of pain exploded in his abdomen, threatening to knock the wind out of his lungs. He heard himself let out a weird, guttural sound and he looked down. He hadn't even noticed that he had moved his hands - but he was staring directly at them as they were pressing against his stomach, covered in dark red blood. Bewildered he lifted his hands a little, not sure whose blood he was covered in. The sharp pain that rolled through him by the movement made his knees even more wobbly and he found himself stumbling backwards. In disbelief he looked up at the blonde.

 

"You idiot," she merely said as she took a step towards him. The smirk had returned to her face and she shook her head. Michael could feel himself shiver and a weird sense of being ice cold washed through him, covering him in a sheet of cold sweat and goose bumps. Somewhere he could hear James screaming. This all suddenly seemed surreal and baffled Michael stared back down at his hands and at his stained clothes. There was a hole in the fabric of his T-shirt, its blood soaked edges torn in a ragged pattern. Finally it sunk in that he had actually been shot and he let out a soft moan as the pain overwhelmed him. He didn't even register that he was staggering backwards before the back of his knees hit the edge of the coffee table and he lost his balance as his legs gave in. With a groan he tumbled to the ground, landing behind the coffee table near the wall and under one of the windows with its curtains drawn. A choked sound escaped him when he found himself on his side, lying on the floor surrounded by the glass shards from the broken candle holders. His body felt oddly paralyzed while an indescribable pain flickered through him like vicious, white lightning. Blinking he tried to clear his vision which had started to blur slightly. In between the legs of the coffee table he could see the blonde's red stilettos standing in the middle of the living room floor. There was a loud ringing sound. Michael wasn't sure if it was his ears ringing until the stilettos moved across the room. It had to be the phone, he realized. Swallowing he looked around. His mouth tasted like iodine with a metallic tinge and his heart skipped a beat when his gaze fixed on the driver's knees planted solidly on the floor near his head, leaning against James. It had been quiet since the gunshot but Martin was picking up where he had left off, the sound of skin hitting skin returning. Shuddering Michael's glance darted around, jumping from one shard of glass to another. One of them would have to do. Somewhere in the background the blonde had picked up the phone from the floor.

 

"What?!" she hissed. Michael could see one of her stilettos tapping its nose impatiently against the floor as she spoke. Still lying on his side he reached out a trembling hand and grabbed a hold of a long shard of glass.

 

"Damn right there was a gunshot. But no one is dead. Consider this a warning. Now where is my armored car?" she said, the nose of her shoe tapping faster. Swallowing dryly Michael felt the sharp edges of the glass shard cut into his palm as he closed his hand harder around it, but he didn't react to the pain. He didn't even notice the blood starting to form a dark pool under him. The only thing he focused on was to stay awake and muster up the strength he knew he had to.

 

"Well, no car, no hostage!" the woman snarled. Somewhere above him Michael could hear James letting out small sobs every time the driver thrust into him. He couldn't see him, he could only hear him. And the sounds escaping him were heartbreaking. Martin was getting more aggressive, his thrusts starting to grow erratic and his grunts becoming louder. Almost blinded by tears that had formed in his eyes once more Michael had managed to get up on one elbow and he took a deep breath.

 

"Call me back when you've got the car!" the blonde said resolutely. Blinking to clear his vision Michael tensed up every muscle that would still obey him and he squeezed the shard in his hand. Then, with a roar, he forcefully pushed himself upwards and made a lunge at the driver. He swung his hand with the shard towards him, aiming blindly for any soft spot. As he moved Martin turned his head in surprise. The man's dark eyes turned almost impossibly wide, leaving the white surrounding the iris to seem extra white and nearly glowing. A surprised sound escaped him and the look of shock on his face intensified when he realized what was happening. Then he froze. For a moment everything happened in slow motion. Michael heard the driver let out a choked and high pitched yelp and simultaneously he could feel the edges of the glass shard cut deeper into his palm from the impact. He had hit him. Heaving for air Michael found himself locked in eye contact with Martin whose mouth dropped open as if he was trying to scream. Only no scream came. A gargling sound escaped him instead and he was desperately clawing at the side of his neck, where only a small tip of the glass shard was sticking out. Blood was spraying out around it, jets of almost black blood instantly staining everything nearby. Somewhere in the background Michael heard the sound of stilettos approaching but he didn't really register it. Instead he was staring at Martin's pupils dilate and turn oddly glazed over. The tone of his skin had turned a strange color and Michael could feel his stomach turn when his gaze went blank. The man then tilted sideways and fell to the floor with a hard thud. Instantly Michael wanted to grab a hold of James and he fumbled to reach him from his almost sitting position on the floor. He was right in front of him, yet it felt like the distance between them was near endless. The muscles in Michael's body were numbed and didn't respond the way he wanted them to, so he ended up supporting himself on his forearms on the edge of the table top weakly, desperately fighting to get his body to obey his mind. As he slumped against the table he found himself staring at James who had managed to lift himself up slightly and turn his head towards him. The eyes Michael was suddenly looking into were wide and full of tears but also the most beautiful blue color he had ever seen. A brilliant, pure ocean of blue, he thought. Serene. How could they possibly be so blue? They seemed to almost fill his entire field of vision and he felt a small smile forming on his lips.

 

"Michael...?" he heard James say and he wanted to reach for his face. He wanted to make sure that he was actually real. Only his hand didn't move. And when he tried again both of his blood-soaked hands suddenly slipped from their position and he found himself splayed on the floor between the coffee table and the wall. Confused and all of a sudden feeling extremely sleepy he found that he was staring at a white ceiling instead of those blue eyes that he loved so much.

 

 


	13. Do or Die

 

 

James let out a pained sound when Michael slipped off the coffee table and disappeared from his field of view. He landed somewhere on the floor by the wall and he could hear a soft groan escaping him along with the slight crunching sound of broken glass. Even though he was almost numb with shock James could somehow all too well feel the pain still coursing through him from Martin's assault - it felt like his insides were burning and his entire body was trembling visibly. Everything was happening so fast, almost too fast for him to take in. He noticed that the sound of rapidly approaching stilettos was intensifying and with his hands still trapped in the cuffs behind his back he turned to look.

  
"You're fucking dead, Michael!!" the blonde roared furiously as she quickly made her way towards the coffee table. Her hand was clenching the gun, her index finger already on the trigger.     

  
"Don't hurt him!!" James yelled desperately, twisting and turning and trying to straighten up from his lying position on the coffee table's top. The woman's face was flushed red with anger, her eyes wide and focused as she strode towards the sofa set. James' glance was fixed on her as she approached the coffee table and he shuddered when he spotted the driver's lifeless body lying in a pool of dark blood somewhere in his peripheral vision. James closed his hands into fists when the blonde reached the table to go around it.

  
"No!" he yelled and squirmed, managing to pull up his torso despite of the pain instantly exploding in what seemed to be every single nerve end in his body. But the blonde paid no attention to him at all. Instead she started to move along the table's side to reach Michael lying on the floor behind it, because at the moment the table was blocking her view. Completely disregarding the gun in her hand James instinctively turned and kicked out at her. He managed to land a hard kick on her thigh, causing her to stumble and almost drop the gun when she had to break her fall by grabbing a hold of the arm chair. A surprised but furious shriek escaped her and James could see her leg give in under her when she tried to regain her composure and stand back up straight. But even though she was struggling the gun was still in her hand. At the same time James was trying to get to his feet, fighting to override his hurting body signaling for him to just lay himself back down on the table.

  
"Michael!? Michael, watch out!" James yelled, trying to catch a glimpse of Michael who had to be lying somewhere below one of the living room windows with its curtains drawn. The daylight was blocked out almost completely except for a very thin line in the middle. It looked like a glowing scratch in the semi-darkness of the living room. Panicky James could only see some dark shadows on the floor and he couldn't tell if it was blood blotches or maybe Michael's elbow or hand that he could see. The blonde had now regained her composure and was straightening herself up while sending James a furious glare. Fighting to get to his feet James returned her glance.

  
"Do you really think you can save him?" the blonde spat. Her pencil dress was disorderly, now full of wrinkles and rolled up hems, but this time she didn't seem to care enough to start correcting it. She was sending James a patronizing stare, obviously still in pain from his kick and clearly angry about it. She was standing a little awkwardly, lifting her hurting leg slightly and putting more weight on the other one. James didn't answer her question. Instead he was on his knees, now straightening his back. Naked from the waist down, while glaring directly back at her, he mustered up as much defiance as he possibly could. Something warm was slowly trickling down his inner thighs as he moved and James had no doubt that it could only be blood.

  
"Do you really think you can make me love you?" James heard himself say sharply. The blonde sucked in a breath of air, shocked by his sudden outburst. Her eyes then narrowed and she took a wobbly step towards him in her high heels.

  
"Things take time. But just you wait," she said. James' glance darted to the gun in her hand. He thought he could see her trembling a little.

  
"I will never love you. You disgust me," James snapped back at her. The woman huffed.

  
"Don't make me prove it right now," she said bluntly, an undertone of danger lacing her otherwise silky voice. James shook his head.

  
"You can force me to say that I love you all you want, but that doesn't make it true," he said. The blonde stared at him incredulously and her red lips were parted as if the words she was going to say were suddenly stuck in her throat. Silence fell for a few seconds.

  
"You don't mean that," she then said. For a moment it almost sounded like she was on the verge of crying, her voice slightly trembling. James couldn't tell if it was from sadness or anger. He just nodded. As he did so she let out a small pant and the sound of it reminded him of a wounded animal. Full of desperation. 

  
"You will regret this, James," she said. Her voice was now flat, yet still there was a passionate vibe to it that instantly made James feel even more uneasy. He was still trying to get to his feet, but his legs felt too weak for him to actually stand up. Sitting by the end of the coffee table on his knees he looked up at her.    

  
"You have to stop this," he said, trying to reason with her. He knew that Michael was in dire need of medical attention and that he couldn't afford wasting any more time. He could hear him breathing softly and unevenly from somewhere behind the table and a slight rattling sound on every exhale made James fear that they were running out of time too fast.

  
"No," the blonde merely said and took a step towards him.

  
"I'm not giving you up," she said and this time there was clear anger in her voice. James swallowed. He had to do something. But every time he tried he seemed to fail.

  
"I will go with you..." he suddenly said. The blonde stopped in her tracks.

  
"... If you let Michael go," he added and looked at her. She tilted her head ever so slightly as she looked back at him. It felt like she was carefully weighing his words, unsure if he was being truthful or not. But he meant it. He meant every word. A chill ran down James' spine by this realization.

  
"You'll go with me either way. What makes you think you're in the position to give me an ultimatum?" she said and let out a small chuckle. James' heart sank.

  
"Because otherwise I'll fight you all the way," he said. Her eyes narrowed.

  
"Let Michael go and I will go with you willingly. Don't and I will fight you until you kill me," he said matter-of-factly. The blonde glared at him. In the semi-darkness James could see her eyes shimmering, reflecting the slit of light between the drawn curtains. The air seemed to be electric and the thunder of his pulse felt deafening as he waited for her reaction. For a moment she was just standing there and he couldn't tell what her next move would be. He had no idea. And it terrified him. Michael's breathing was growing more labored and the feeling of panic was starting to set in full force.

  
"What makes you think I won't just kill you now, mon cher?" the woman suddenly said. She took a step towards him, waving the gun back and forth threateningly. James suppressed the urge to scream in frustration.

  
"Do it then!" he yelled angrily.

  
"Do it, kill me!! Just fucking get it over with!" he heard himself burst out. He knew that he was playing with fire and that she just might pull that trigger. But at this point he didn't care anymore. Something had to happen - and fast - or Michael would die. He would die right there on the living room floor, only a few feet away from him. He couldn't let that happen. Even if that meant giving up his own life. But somehow he had a feeling that she wouldn't kill him unless she really had no other choice. She hadn't gone through all of this trouble only to kill him. And that was the only good card he had been dealt in all of this. He had to play it somehow. But he didn't have the time to conjure up some intricate plan - instead he just went with it to provoke a reaction, to get something to happen. Almost anything was better than this stalling. Because they were out of time.

  
"You want me to kill you?!" she hissed and pointed the gun at him. Piercing him with her glance she took a step towards him. James took no notice of the gun, but glared right back at her.

  
"Yes!" he yelled, feeling his eyes watering up in desperation. She let out a furious roar and suddenly strode towards him.

  
"Well, I just fucking might!" she snarled and reached out, grabbing a hold of his hair. James couldn't help but let out a pained hiss when she pulled at it, forcing him to his feet. He almost fell back down, but he found that he was actually able to stand despite of his legs feeling numb and weak. Every muscle was screaming, but he was standing. Barely.

  
"I'll show you, you little shit!" she said. She pulled more at his hair, forcing his head backwards while placing the gun under his chin. This caused him to stumble backwards when his legs were about to give in. He might be standing, but his legs were wobbly and threatening to buckle.

  
"I'll have you begging!" she yelled and followed him when he stumbled backwards, not letting go of his hair. He noticed a crunching sound of glass along with their footsteps, but he didn't have time to think about it before he collided with something. With a loud sound she smacked him into the wall right next to the window with his back first. Small stars started to dance in his field of vision from the impact and he had to fight not to slide down the wall and end up on the floor. Immediately she pressed the mouth of the gun against his throat, forcing him to straighten back up slightly. She stepped closer to him and the scent of her lavender perfume hit his nostrils with a sickening intensity.

  
"You think you can play me?!" she said and cocked the hammer of the gun. The metallic click sent an icy shiver through James, but instead of flinching he just stared at her.

  
"Huh?!" she hissed and smacked the back of his head into the wall. He let out a small groan but kept returning her glance. Through the stars in his field of vision he saw that the thin slit in the curtain was sending in a fine line of brilliant light, dividing her face into two parts. It was an eerie sight. James then noticed that his trapped hands were touching something soft behind his back and he realized that it was the end of the curtain. He closed his hands around it, clenching the fabric.

  
"Well, I'll make you beg right now!!" she said and suddenly removed the gun from his throat, pointing it towards the floor next to them instead. James instantly realized that she was aiming at Michael. He was lying on the floor only three feet away from them, a big and almost pitch black pool of blood outlining him. His breathing had started to sound oddly shallow and the rattling had intensified, leaving James convinced that he was indeed dying right next to him. Right now. A shockwave of sheer horror washed through him, making the dancing stars in his field of vision instantly shatter and vanish along with every hope of ever reasoning with this woman.

  
"You or him?! Now beg!" she hissed, her head slightly lowered as she glared at him with her eyebrows closely knitted together. James' heart seemed to skip a beat as he looked her in the eye. The gray iris looked like a dead sea with a black, deserted island in the middle. Ghost-like. He shivered and clenched the curtain's fabric even tighter behind his back.

  
"BEG!" she growled, a thin spray of saliva sending a thin mist into the air which shimmered in the thin line of light like particles of golden dust. James didn't hear her. Instead he was clenching the fabric of the curtain so hard in his fists that he thought his fingers were going to break at the joints. In front of him her face was contorting into a furious grimace by his lacking response. He was out of time. Without thinking any further James charged forwards with a loud roar, crashing his shoulder directly into her right side. Using his body as a battering ram he collided with her right shoulder with so much force that she dropped the gun, her arms flailing when she fell backwards. As James could do nothing but follow her on her way down he could see the gun landing somewhere next to Michael in the darkness out of the corner of his eye. Relief instantly washed through him by the sight along with the scary feeling of free falling. The blonde was screaming while she was falling backwards and down towards the floor and James was falling along with her, limp and feeling heavy. He didn't even try to break the fall. He knew that he didn't have the physical strength to do so at this point - and he didn't want to either. The floor was coming closer and closer. Everything seemed to go so fast, yet it felt like painful slow motion. Then James suddenly felt a hard tug on his hands. And a loud, tearing sound followed when the curtain was ripped off its rod as he pulled it with him. The floor was racing towards him behind the woman and he clenched the handfuls of curtain fabric with all of his might. Just as their bodies collided with the living room floor the last piece of curtain was torn away from the window, allowing day light to pour into the room in what seemed like an explosion of white light. The blonde let out a yelp when she smacked the back of her head against the floor and James landed on top of her. Somewhere behind them Michael had been covered under the curtain and the rod detached itself from its position on the wall, slamming against the coffee table with a loud, metallic clang. As it rolled onto the floor James lifted his head slightly, eyes almost squeezed completely shut due to the bright light blinding him. Under him the blonde was beginning to twist and turn.

  
"Putain!" she cursed and fumbled to grab a hold of James' shoulders to push him off. He did the best he could to trap her under him, but he didn't have the strength or energy to keep her there for long. Even though she had lost the gun during the fall he knew that she was still able to inflict a lot of damage - and that he probably couldn't prevent her from doing so. Or prevent her from finding the gun and using it either. Her stamina and strength was scary and made him think of some sort of wild animal. James let out groan when she dug her fingers into his shoulders, trying to get up. Almost completely blinded by the sudden daylight he tried to hit her with his shoulder desperately, aiming for her head. At the same moment her knee caught him in the side, throwing him off balance and causing him to miss her as he fell sideways. He ended up rolling on to the floor as she got up into a sitting position.

  
"You're dead!" she snarled and fumbled clumsily to grab a hold of him when he tried to get up on his knees. By now their eyes had almost gotten used to the daylight pouring in from the living room window in bright cascades, illuminating everything in a harsh, white light. When James kicked out at her she managed to grab his foot with both hands and pull him towards her almost effortlessly. Sliding across the floor James discovered that a sharp pain was radiating from the soles of both of his feet and his eyes were now able to see dark red blood dripping down from the one she was pulling at. Then it dawned on him what the crunching sound had been when they were struggling by the window - he had been walking on glass shards with his bare feet, embedding loads of splinters in his flesh without even registering it. He let out a yelp when she pulled him closer, increasing the pressure on his injured foot.

  
"I'm gonna enjoy this so much!" she hissed and pulled him close enough for her to be able to hit him across the face, sending him tumbling sideways and land in front of the coffee table. With a moan he landed on the blood stained floor next to the driver's lifeless body. In daylight the pool of blood around him wasn't black anymore, but bright red. James swallowed. It felt like all strength had left his body and his ears were ringing almost painfully, but he refused to listen to his body's protests. Instead of giving in and staying down he awkwardly got up on his knees, cursing the fact that his hands were trapped behind his back and rendered useless. Feeling dizzy and disoriented he faced the window and he felt his eyes prickling and watering up from looking directly at the light. He thought he saw movement in the window's bright mix of white and green in what had to be a back yard, but everything seemed to be sailing before his eyes. Behind him he could hear the woman moving about and he quickly tried to get to his feet. An agonizing pain instantly shot through him when he put weight on his foot, making his leg give in under him. It felt like he was trying to walk on lava. The woman's hand then suddenly grabbed him by the neck and forced him to turn around to face her. His shoulder blades were now pressed against the table top's edge as she grabbed him by the throat, placing a knee on each side of his hips on the floor as she straddled him. A choked sound escaped James as his windpipe was squeezed shut. For a moment she leaned in to look him in the eye. James noticed his vision starting to blur from the lack of oxygen, causing her pale face and smudged lipstick to turn into a weird and scary chaos of white and red. 

  
"Now you die," she said coldly. But to his surprise one of her hands suddenly let go of his throat, fumbling for something on the floor. Able to suck in a little bit of air James wheezed and twisted, trying to throw her off. But she didn't falter in the slightest. In the same moment her hand brought something back into his field of vision. Through the blur he thought he recognized the object but he couldn't identify it. It was gray and yellow, but thin and with a bright orange tip. The woman squeezed his throat tighter with her other hand, pressing his head backwards to almost rest on the table top. James blinked feverishly, trying to squirm violently enough for her to lose her grip. But the little strength he had left was quickly draining from his body, leaving him limp and unable to defend himself. Above him her blurry face was looking at him. He thought he saw a crooked smile on it, but he wasn't sure. The ringing in his ears had grown louder and he almost couldn't hear anything else, except his own pulse. The object with the orange tip entered his field of vision again and this time he realized that he indeed had seen it before. It was the syringe that the driver had threatened him with earlier. He remembered him saying "And you won't wake back up. Ever." With his stomach turning James wanted to scream, but no sound came out. The woman and the blur which had to be her face came slightly closer, lavender perfume and warm breath hitting his face. The orange safety device concealing the needle on the syringe was somehow removed and tossed to the side. In a haze James thought that she had probably pulled it off using her teeth, because the hand around his throat was still effectively cutting off his air supply and causing a thin vignette to form in the corners of his vision. His throat hurt immensely and he thought he felt something give way under her fingers. In the same moment he found that he had stopped fighting. Small twitches ran through him every two seconds, like a sort of cramp. Above him her face leaned down towards him, the chaos of blurred out white and red coming closer and closer. Somewhere in the middle of it he could see two gray spots which had to be her eyes.

  
"Goodnight, James," her voice said. It sounded oddly calm. The daylight from the window behind him was bathing her face in bright light, turning her pale skin almost a glowing white. James' eyelids were slowly starting to close and he expected the prick of the needle to hit him at any moment. He couldn't determine if it was a feeling of horror or of relief that accompanied that thought. As he looked at her white blur of a face he tried to focus on the gray spots. Her eyes. He wanted her to know that he was spiteful until his eyes closed, until she killed him. She couldn't break him because he refused to cower, he thought to himself. He felt a small smile spread on his lips as he stared defiantly at the two gray circles in the sea of white. He noticed something red flickering in the middle of the glowing whiteness and it seemed to gather itself into a single, round dot above the two gray spots. Then it stood still, bouncing slightly against the white background. Was that a human voice yelling? Her fingers closed tighter and harder around his neck, giving off a slightly crackling sound in his throat. He didn’t care. Yet still James found that his smile grew defiantly broader just as his eyelids gave up trying to stay open. Then there was a deafening noise. Something sounded like it shattered and suddenly the grip on his throat was gone. Completely gone. Everything seemed to turn upside down and James didn't know where he was. Was he floating? He felt light and sleepy, almost as if he was intoxicated. He wasn't sure if this was heaven or not... Was heaven supposed to feel like this? Then something seemed to be pulling at him somewhere in the distance. Drowsily he wanted to open his eyes and with all of his might he managed to crack them open just a tiny bit. Light immediately stung him and he realized that he was looking at a set of boots. Frowning slightly in confusion he looked past the boots and discovered that he was in the same living room as moments ago, only now lying on his side on the floor.

  
"Breathe!!" someone was yelling, something clapping him on the back repeatedly and shaking him. Then pain hit him. Excruciating pain from what seemed to be every inch of his body. From the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He was turned onto his back and all of a sudden his sore throat opened up, automatically sucking in a huge gulp of air which painfully filled his air-deprived lungs. Feeling like he was choking all over again James coughed violently, but he kept heaving for air and filling his lungs to the brim.

  
"That's it, that's it," somebody coaxed in a soft voice. Still coughing and wheezing James realized that his vision had turned sharp again and out of the corner of his eye he found himself staring at the orange safety device from the syringe lying on the floor. Panic immediately washed through him and his glance darted around, settling on someone's face. A man. A stranger. James tensed up. 

  
"It's alright, you're safe," the stranger said in a French accent, his hand placed on James' shoulder. Looking down at himself James realized that he was covered in a thin, metallic blanket. It looked like it was made of silver and it reflected the daylight in sharp rays every time he moved just a tiny bit. A thermal emergency blanket, James thought. His jaw dropped slightly. Was it over? Panicky his glance darted to and fro and he opened his mouth to speak, but he only croaked something incoherent.

  
"Don't speak, your throat might be damaged," the man said and at the same time some people in uniforms came bursting in from the hallway, carrying two stretchers. James tried to get to his knees in order to glance over the coffee table, but the man restrained him by pressing his hand against shoulder resolutely yet gently.

  
"Stay still, okay...? You need to..." he began, but James looked at him, wide-eyed:

  
"Is Michael...??" he whispered hoarsely before his voice cracked and he coughed, pain shooting out from his throat and larynx. The man sent him a small smile.

  
"He's alive," he said softly and waved at the uniformed people to hurry. James noticed that it said "AMBULANCE" on their backs.

  
"Hey, someone find the key to the cuffs!" the man then yelled impatiently before looking back at James.

  
"You're going to be fine," he said, trying to calm James down while he was lying on the floor, still heaving for air. Two uniformed people, a man and a woman, hurried to their side and put down a stretcher next to them. An older man with a uniform that said "PARAMÉDIC" ran past them and another one knelt down in front of James, his blue eyes scanning him in an investigative manner. He then looked at the woman next to him and said something in French and she started to rummage about in a big bag, pulling up different medical gear. James turned his head and tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind the coffee table by looking in between its legs. But it all was one big mess of feet and curtain cloth and he was unable to spot Michael. He wanted to get up and see how he was doing, to just be there for him and comfort him. But his body felt completely drained of energy, it felt utterly limp and useless. He cursed himself under his breath.

  
"James? Hey..." someone said and his shoulder was nudged carefully. Reluctantly James turned his head back and looked at the paramedic who was looking down at him with big, kind eyes.

  
"I'm going to give you something to relieve the pain, okay?" he said and the lady next to him was preparing a syringe of some sort along with an oxygen mask.

  
"Wait..." James croaked, not sure if the medicine was going to knock him out or not. The paramedic immediately shushed him.

  
"Please don't talk. Your larynx and trachea might have sustained some damage and we need to assess it," he said softly and grabbed the oxygen mask when the lady gave it to him.

  
"Don't worry," he smiled and turned a valve on a small oxygen tank.

  
"We will get you fixed up, alright? Now, you will feel a little prick in your arm when my colleague administers the medicine and you will get very tired..." he continued and moved his hands to put the mask on James. But immediately James turned his head to the side, preventing the man from doing so. His glance randomly fixed on a big, white bundle lying on the living room floor. Frowning he didn't realize what it was at first until he noticed the blotches of blood soaking the white fabric. A red stiletto was lying next to the bundle and James felt his stomach turn.

  
"James, you have to let us help you," the paramedic's voice said. James swallowed and instantly cringed at the pain radiating from his throat. Turning his head back he looked at the man above him.

  
"Will he make it?" he asked, but it came out as a hoarse whisper. The man's expression softened a little and his blue eyes looked like they tried to smile a confident smile.

  
"We are doing all we can. He is badly injured and his condition is critical. But I think his chances are good," he said and waved his hand with the oxygen mask in the air a little to catch James' attention.

  
"Please, James. I promise you will get to see him when you wake up," he said, worry present in his voice. James couldn't determine if he was worried about him refusing to let them treat him or worried about Michael's prognosis. Closing his eyes for a few seconds James felt how all kinds of horrific thoughts were flying through his head with hundreds of miles per hour, lodging ghastly pictures and feelings in his brain. What if Michael wasn't going to make it?? The paramedic might keep his promise, but what if he woke up only to discover that Michael had passed? Then he could only see him the morgue. James' stomach turned again and he heard himself let out a small sound which resembled a whimper. He opened his eyes and found that both the paramedic and his assistant were looking at him with concerned looks on their faces.

  
"There is nothing you can do at this moment but to let us take care of you and your friend," the paramedic said in a soft, yet firm voice. His blue gaze looked like it was begging him. Licking his lip James felt his eyes watering up. He thought about what Michael would think... Then finally he reluctantly nodded. Relief seemed to replace the worry in the paramedic's gaze and James felt something wet being rubbed on his arm. Probably alcohol, he thought hazily.

  
"Good, good. You're in safe hands, okay? Now try to relax," the paramedic said. James closed his eyes, trying the best he could to comply. But his entire body felt like it had become an entity of its own. He had no control over it. Even though it felt limp and heavy he knew that every muscle was tensed up like a spring ready to snap. Probably because of the intense pain coming from seemingly everywhere. Then he felt a prick. It didn't even hurt, he thought. Almost instantly he started to feel dizzy and he opened his eyes slightly. The two people towering above him were starting to look a little warped and James could hear the paramedic talking to him in a calm voice. He didn't pick up on the words though. Suddenly it felt like an extreme feeling of being tired washed through him. He thought he should feel a bit startled by this, but for some reason he didn't at all. Instead he let out a small pant when the pain seemed to cease and quickly evaporate, leaving him feeling relieved and almost weightless. It felt like he was floating, the air feeling warm and soft around him like he was wrapped in a cotton cloud. He wanted to close his eyes when he realized that he had already done so. The world seemed to shrink away and he didn't register all the activity around him and the feet running to and fro. Behind his closed eyelids an image flickered somewhere in the distance. Floating towards it James found himself looking at it as it sharpened. It was an image of Michael. A smiling Michael. No blood and no gun wound, just a perfect and smiling Michael. If they could his lips would have formed a smile, but James drifted off into a deep sleep.           

 

 


	14. Only Lavender Remains

  
A dim light was flickering vaguely, James noticed, as he found himself staring at the back of his closed eyelids. Confusion immediately hit him. Where was he? Unsure of where he was or if he was even alive spawned a sensation of growing panic and his eyes shot open. Or so he thought. Because as soon as he had opened them, they had closed again just as quickly. Too quickly for him to visually register anything. Somewhere he thought he could hear an odd, beeping sound and as he fought to open his eyes the rhythm of the sound grew faster by the second. Where was Michael? Feeling himself shudder slightly he thought he saw the blonde woman's face, white and red and hovering above him like a blurry and furious demon. His throat hurt and he was unsure if he was breathing. He tried to open his eyes again but it felt like lead weights had been placed on them and his attempts to open them only turned into small blinks. While he fought to open his eyes properly the beeping sound had picked up speed and had almost turned into one long, high pitched tone. Suddenly something touched his arm and James flinched.  
  


"Easy, James, it's alright. You're safe," a voice said and something that felt like a hand was caressing his lower arm. Again James gathered all of his willpower and tried to pry his eyes open - this time he managed to do so and light stung him instantly through the tiny crack between his eyelids.  
 

"You're in the hospital," the voice continued and the hand kept stroking his forearm reassuringly. Almost blinded James looked in the direction of the voice but at the moment everything was just white. Then slowly the contours of a person started to emerge next to him and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The beeping sound in the background had returned to its fast, steady rhythm and James realized that it had to be a heart monitor. Maybe he really was in the hospital? Slowly his vision started to adjust and he found himself looking at a woman who was looking back at him with smiling, brown eyes. Confused his glance darted around in the room.  
 

"You've been asleep for a while and you might be feeling a little dizzy and disoriented. That's just the pain medication, okay?" she said. James' glance darted from a chair to the white walls to the window and ended up settling on the IV in his hand. He really was in the hospital, he realized. Suddenly he remembered the oxygen mask and falling asleep on the living room floor next to the paramedic and his assistant and he swallowed dryly, cringing a little by the dull pain radiating from his throat. Where was Michael? Fear instantly washed through him and the heart monitor started beeping a little faster.    
 

"I'll just get the doctor," the nurse said and patted his arm softly. With a smile she turned around and walked out of the bed ward and James thought he could hear her voice talking out in the corridor. The quirking sound of sandals hitting the linoleum floor then reached his ears and he looked up to see a man walk through the door. With his gray hair and white coat he looked calm and collected as he stopped next to the bed, correcting his glasses.

   
"Hello James, I'm doctor Dufour. It's good to see you're awake," he said and sent James a small smile. Picking up a clipboard he flipped through some papers, looking deeply focused. James felt his heart racing in his chest and he noticed the familiar prickling of tears trying to fight their way out of the corners of his eyes. The heart monitor was beeping frantically and the doctor raised an eyebrow as he looked up over the edge of the clipboard.

   
"Where's Michael??" James suddenly asked and screwed his eyes shut from the sting of pain that accompanied his outburst. The doctor held up a hand, seemingly urging James to take it easy.    

   
"He's in surgery right now. His prognosis is good. Please stay calm, James, and don't speak unless you absolutely have to," he said sternly and corrected the stethoscope hanging from his neck. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little he looked down at the clipboard.

   
"Now, I have to inform you that strangulation is a very serious matter. While you were under we performed a CT angiography and our findings are that you have sustained a rather severe vocal cord paresis along with several abrasions to your neck. Luckily your larynx and trachea are intact, but we will have to keep you for a couple of days," he said and looked down on James investigatively. 

  
"The strangulation caused compression of your jugular veins and stopped the arterial blood from reaching the brain, supplying it with oxygen. That is why you passed out. A few more seconds could have killed you. In other words you are lucky to be alive," he continued and scribbled something on the clipboard's paper. James blinked, trying to get the excess water in his eyes to subside. He couldn't bear the thought of Michael being in surgery and that he wasn't there by his side. He suppressed a sniffle.

   
"Your prognosis is good but the asphyxia you experienced might result in some long term symptoms. Weeks to months after an assault, a victim may have problems sleeping, and experience impairment in memory and concentration..." the doctor went on but James couldn't stop thinking about Michael in surgery. The prognosis might be good but what if something happened, what if he didn't make it? What if he died? A shiver ran through James and his eyes watered up again. This time a single tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, leaving a warm and wet trail behind.

   
"... And your wife is on her way here too. And the officers will ask you some questions as soon as you're ready, okay? Just promise me that you will not strain your voice. Instead you will be given pen and paper," the doctor said and sent James a small smile. Realizing that he hadn't been listening to half of what the doctor had said he just nodded, trying to calm himself down. Anne-Marie was on her way? Shivers ran through him again by the thought of her seeing him like this. 

  
"Now, regarding the... the rectal lacerations you've sustained..." the doctor said while he seemed to shift his weight from one foot to another:

   
"They will heal on their own and we found no intestinal tearing. Of course you will be offered counseling to deal with the psychological trauma..." he said and sent James another smile that seemed to border on the insecure while he kept talking. Averting his glance James felt his cheeks burning and his stomach seemed to turn.

   
"The police insist on questioning you as soon as possible while everything is still fresh in your memory, but it is important that you get some rest. When you came in you were severely dehydrated, but it is stabilizing and..." the doctor continued and looked at the IV in James' hand as he went on. The rest of what he said seemed to turn into faded noise as James couldn't help but revisit the basement and the living room and what had happened there. Flashes of pictures and emotions flickered through his mind with such a speed that he wasn't sure if he was going to pass out or be sick. He felt so disgusted with himself and he didn't really know why... but an intense feeling of shame washed over him, causing his cheeks to turn a rosy pink. Trembling he felt cold sweat starting to emerge on his skin again and he clenched the bed sheets in his hands.

   
"Easy now..." he heard the doctor's voice say and James snapped back to the present with a small gasp. The gray-haired man was looking at him with a worried expression on his face, his glance darting to and from the heart monitor. Its beeping sound had turned into a high pitched screech and the green lines on the EKG were bouncing frantically.

   
"I have called for our best trauma psychologist and she will talk to you as soon as you have rested. You're in good hands, James," he said calmly, smiling a little. James couldn't determine if his smile was a patronizing one or a genuine attempt to make him feel better. No matter what, it felt like he couldn't stand to be in his own body right now. Again he thought of Michael in surgery and he suppressed a sob, turning his face away from the doctor to look at the window. He couldn't deal with eye contact right now. He just couldn't.

   
"I'll leave you to rest. But please, if you need anything at all, just press the button next to the bed," the doctor said almost as if he could sense James' discomfort at his presence. James kept his face turned away but managed to nod. The quirking of sandals against the linoleum floor told him that the doctor was leaving the bed ward and he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect himself. The pillow under his head was soaked in sweat by now, he noticed, and shuddering he took a deep breath. His entire body felt oddly numb... He figured that it had to be the pain medication doing its job. He was thankful for that. Fragments of blurry whites and reds along with lavender perfume and flashes of the driver's face shot through his mind repeatedly and he grimaced. Focus. He had to focus or he felt like he would surely lose his mind. Inhaling deeply he tried to imagine that Michael was here with him... Alive and warm. The image of his face started to flicker somewhere in the distance and James desperately tried to zoom in on it. He needed him. He needed him more than ever. The flickering image turned a bit clearer and James focused on his eyes. Those smiling eyes that always looked at him with such a warmth that it made him weak in the knees and made him feel loved. Precious. Protected. Safe. The image turned clearer still and James realized that he had stopped clenching the sheets and that the beeping sound from the heart monitor had evened out. He felt drowsy. Also he felt incredibly heavy, like he was sinking into the sheets and almost through the mattress. Michael had turned almost completely clear now and he was slowly coming closer, smiling at him broadly. A single tear rolled down James' cheek as he fell asleep.       

 

 

* * *

 

  

James' eyes shot open as he sat up in the bed with a jerking motion, a hoarse yelp stuck painfully in his sore throat. Only a small, high pitched cry escaped him and wide-eyed his glance darted panicky around the white room. The scent of lavender filled his nostrils and confused and unsure if he still felt rough hands touching his body he looked down at himself, lifting his open palms up towards his face... Turning them around almost incredulously his gaze immediately fixed on the IV and its needle penetrating the skin on the back of his hand and a relieved shudder ran through him. Hospital, he thought. He was in the hospital. Exhaling raggedly he licked his lip. Slowly he started to relax his tensed up muscles a little, looking around the bed ward. Instantly he noticed that the light from the window had dimmed quite a bit, turning it a slight orange color. For how long had he been sleeping? He had no idea. But it had to be at least a couple of hours because when the doctor had left him the daylight had been completely white like it usually is just before or around noon. He wasn't sure though. He wasn't sure of anything. Straightening himself up a little he cringed at the dull pain ricocheting through him like a stray bullet bouncing off every bone in his body. He realized that Michael had to be out of surgery by now. Instantly he felt his heart quicken its rhythm and before he knew it he found himself pressing the call button. The seconds that ticked by felt so slow, so agonizingly long that James felt like someone had put everything on pause. His glance darted around the room once more to locate a clock, but as he already knew there was none. He swallowed and regretted it instantly, grimacing as pain shot through him. He had to know if Michael had made it... And he had to see him. Did this damn button even work? Feeling droplets of sweat seeping out from seemingly every pore in his skin he pressed the button again. Realizing that he was starting to hyperventilate he tried the best he could to calm himself down. Focus. He needed focus. Closing his eyes he tried to find the image of Michael once more but this time he felt like his mind was a foggy maze of horrible bits and pieces of memories he wished that he didn't possess. Frustrated he fumbled for the image in his mind, but it seemed to have vanished. An eerie feeling immediately washed over him. What if he was really gone, what if this was some sort of sign? By the thought he opened his eyes, not daring to venture further into his own head. It was too much. A panicky sniffle escaped him and he was about to press the call button again when the quirking sound of sandals reached his ears.

   
"Is everything alright?" the nurse with the brown eyes asked as she half-walked, half-ran through the door. James couldn't help but let out a choppy gasp and for a moment he covered his face with his hands, trying to collect his thoughts. He felt like a complete idiot and the burning in his cheeks seemed to double when she placed a gentle hand on his back.

   
"James? It's okay..." she said softly, rubbing his trembling shoulder ever so gently. Trying to even out his breathing James convinced himself to remove his hands from his face even though he didn't feel comfortable doing so. He didn't like anyone looking at him. Not like this. Wiping at the few tears that had escaped his eyes he looked down at the sheet.

   
"How..." he started, but his voice instantly cracked and turned into raspy cough. Automatically James flinched a little from the pain that accompanied it. The nurse's hand patted his shoulder carefully as she bent down a little, a soft expression on her face:

   
"Hold on, I will fetch you some paper and a pen. Alright?" she asked and James nodded, his gaze still fixed on the white sheets draped in his lap.

   
"Alright," the nurse said and smiled as she turned around and walked out in the corridor. James licked his lip again, fidgeting with one of the side tie closures his fingers had found in the hospital gown. The seconds had slowed down again and impatiently he looked at the half-open door to the corridor. But luckily the unmistakable quirking sound of sandals against linoleum returned quicker than he thought and the nurse re-entered the room, triumphantly showing him a clipboard with some sheets of paper and a pen. Walking over and handing it to him she sent him another little smile. Even though it was subtle there was a kindness and a warmth to it that made James feel like he could relax a little. But he still couldn't look her in the eye. Biting his lip he carefully placed the clipboard in his lap and grabbed the pen shakily. Quickly he scribbled 'HOW IS MICHAEL?' in capital letters with the blue pen and turned the clipboard for the nurse to see. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she read it.

   
"Michael's surgery was successful and his condition is stable, don't you worry," she then said and nodded. James' eyes grew wider and he let out a raspy whimper in response, clamping his hands over his mouth, trying to silence himself. The surprise and relief by these news almost overwhelmed him and he just sat there for a moment, baffled. He almost couldn't believe it. Blinking rapidly to get the tears in his eyes to stop blurring his vision he placed the clipboard in his lap again and started writing, this time even faster. He turned the clipboard towards the nurse and she narrowed her eyes again, focusing as she read his sloppy handwriting. She seemed to hesitate a little.

   
"I understand that you want to see him, but he hasn't woken up yet. Also, you really need to rest..." she began, but trailed off when James flipped the clipboard back with a fast movement and started scribbling almost frantically on the paper. The heart monitor was beeping faster and James tried to block out the annoying sound as he wrote a big 'PLEASE' on the paper and turned the clipboard. The nurse's eyes widened slightly and she let out a soft sigh as she looked at him.

   
"It's really not a good idea... I doubt that you can walk and I'm not sure if..." she said, but again James flipped the clipboard around, this time letting out a small pant of frustration as he scribbled down more letters. Clenching the pen he pressed it hard enough against the paper to almost tear it. Then he turned the clipboard, showing the word 'WHEELCHAIR' to the nurse. By now the EKG's green line was bouncing wildly and the beeping sound was starting to drive James insane. The nurse's glance darted to and from the heart monitor -obviously she was getting slightly worried.

   
"James, you need to calm down," she said in a maternal tone of voice, lifting her hands a little into the air. He knew that her intentions were entirely good and well-meant, but he couldn't do what she said and just stay here. Instead he smacked the clipboard down on his lap, circling the word 'PLEASE' with the pen three times before turning it towards the nurse once more. Her glance was still darting from the heart monitor to James and back again, but finally her lips curved reluctantly into a defeated smile.

   
"Okay, but I have to ask doctor Dufour. Your IV might be finished, but we will still have to unplug the EKG and I cannot do that without permission," she said and for the first time in days James felt his lips form a hopeful smile.

   
"Just, please... calm down. I'll go ask the doctor," she said and sent him a wink. James inhaled slowly, trying to comply as he scribbled a 'THANK YOU' on the paper and showed it to her.

   
"You're welcome, dear," she said and turned around, disappearing into the corridor. James exhaled deeply, clenching the clipboard in his hands as he waited. Silence had fallen in the bed ward and only the vague talking and quirking of sandals running back and forth in the corridor outside remained. Again the seconds seemed to grow long and James looked at the half-closed door longingly. He couldn't get himself to stay here in bed. It might be the doctor's orders, but to be frank he didn't give a damn. He had to see Michael. He had touch him - to make sure that he was really here, alive and warm. Besides, just lying here in bed alone with his thoughts and worries was unbearable and would surely drive him mad...

   
"It took a little persuasion, but here we go," the nurse's voice suddenly said as she walked back into the bed ward, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. James nearly jumped as his chain of thought was broken. A feeling of excitement rushed through him and he had to focus hard in order not to use his voice to thank her - instead he smiled broadly, hoping that she realized just how much this meant to him.

   
"Now we will have to unplug all of this machinery," she said and stepped up to the bed, looking down on him with that kind smile still on display on her face.

   
"I will take care of the venflon in your hand, but if you wish you can remove the electrodes yourself...?" she said in an inquisitive voice, sending him a caring look that clearly told him that she knew that he probably would like physical contact to be kept at a minimum. His cheeks flushed slightly and he nodded, thankful for her being so thoughtful and gentle with him. At the same time that hideous feeling of shame washed through him again and he averted his glance. She put a pair of sterile gloves on and leaned down slightly.

   
"Okay, here we go," she said and softly grabbed a hold of his hand. James suppressed the urge to flinch from the touch and swallowed instead, focusing on the pain rocketing back and forth in his throat as a result. It distracted him long enough because he almost didn't even feel the little sting of pain when the needle was removed and when he looked down she had already replaced the venflon with a small square of gauze and a piece of tape holding it in place. He sent her a short, grateful glance and she returned it with a smile while leaning over and turning the heart monitor off with a little click. Finally the beeping noise stopped and James was relieved by the comfortable silence that followed. Quickly he reached inside his hospital gown and started to pull the electrodes off. Trying to be careful not to damage the equipment in his haste was a bit challenging and he forced himself to slow down a little. He didn't even notice the sticky electrodes pulling at his skin and hair in the process. Instead he was both eager and nervous to see Michael and he realized that he was actually sort of scared.

   
"Are you ready?" the nurse asked as he removed the last electrode. She had pushed the wheelchair as close to the bed as it could go and James nodded a little hesitantly. Was he ready? He wasn't sure, but no matter what he knew that he couldn't wait. Why was he suddenly feeling scared?

   
"Try to see if you can put your legs over the side of the bed first," she instructed. Carefully James rotated his body towards her and cringed a little by the dull pain radiating through him. It felt like he had been run over by a tank. But he managed to get his legs to dangle over the side of the bed. His glance fixed on his bandaged feet for a moment – to his surprise he had actually forgotten about those injuries. Carefully he then glanced up at the nurse shortly, awaiting her instructions.

   
"Now try to step down on the floor - but make sure that you hold on to the bed, okay? And if it hurts too much, then get back on the bed," she said and grabbed a hold of the wheelchair's handles. It was placed sideways against the bed, and James gathered that if indeed he couldn't stand he could always try to angle his body differently and fall straight into the seat of the wheelchair. He nodded.     

   
"And try to lower yourself into the chair. Don't fall now," the nurse added. James inhaled deeply and started to scoot his behind over the edge of the bed slowly. Again a soreness seemed to flare throughout his body, but he ignored it. Finally the tip of his bandaged toes touched the linoleum floor and he grabbed a firm hold of the metal bed frame, unsure of how this would go.

   
"That's it," the nurse coaxed and carefully James stepped down on the floor. His feet hurt, but not too much. His legs felt surprisingly weak, he realized, and the muscles in his arms tensed up in order to compensate, almost carrying his entire weight. A low grunt escaped him and he cringed. He knew that he had to turn his body in order to get into the chair - but that also meant letting go of the bed frame with one of his hands. It started to feel like an impossible task and lactic acid was building up quickly in his arms, causing him to tremble violently. Inhaling sharply at the pain growing more intense by the second James decided to just go with it and he let go of the bed frame, pushing himself out. Swinging his body out and to the side he tried to stand, but he quickly realized that the nurse had been right - it hurt too much for him to get his muscles to obey right now and his legs instantly gave way beneath him. But luckily his angle had been spot on, because the next thing he knew he found himself slumped in the wheelchair, a sharp sting of pain radiating from his behind from the impact with the seat. He gasped, but to his surprise a smile had found its way to his lips. He was going to see Michael.

   
"That was a little too close," the nurse said in a worried voice behind him. James grabbed a hold of the wheels, ready to start pushing himself out of the room - but he felt the nurse tightening her grip on the handles.

   
"Oh no, no, no. I push the chair, okay?" she said sternly.

   
"And we can't forget this," she added and leaned over and grabbed the clipboard and the pen still lying on the bed sheets. Feeling a little guilty James nodded and carefully took the items as she handed them to him. Clenching them in his lap he felt a rush of excitement when she started to push the wheelchair towards the door. Quickly they were out in the corridor and James' glance darted around, trying to take it all in. It was strange to be here, to be wheeled along while nurses and doctors passed them and James avoided eye contact when he felt his cheeks burning. How many people knew what had happened to him? He shuddered slightly and licked his lip nervously by the thought. His common sense told him that probably not many people knew... But he still felt like everyone they passed in the corridor looked at him with disgust in their eyes.

   
"It's right around the corner here," the nurse said, her voice disrupting his thoughts. Instantly James felt his pulse skyrocket. He was really going to see Michael... But why was he feeling so anxious about it? Exhaling deeply he clenched the clipboard harder, trying to ignore the inner power struggle going on in his head. On one hand he was feeling excited and happy... but on the other he was feeling scared and ashamed. What if Michael thought less of him? What if he thought he was...

   
"It’s against protocol really. He might still be sleeping, but I'll give you ten minutes," the nurse said and James nodded nervously. In the same moment he was pushed around a corner and into a bed ward. It looked exactly like the one he had been in himself, he thought. A white, sterile room where pretty much the only color to be seen was the orange light from the sunset pouring in through the window. Immediately James fixed his glance on the bed next to it. A figure was lying under the sheets, and his heart did a somersault in his chest by the sight. Michael. Even though he was lying with his face turned towards the window James could recognize his shape and the way the sheets slowly rose and fell along with his breathing left no doubt in his mind. It was Michael. And he was indeed breathing.

   
"Michael, your friend is here to see you," the nurse said softly. There was no response and a chill ran through James as the nurse pushed him towards the bed and around it, stopping the wheelchair by Michael's side. James felt completely speechless. The warm light from the sunset was bathing Michael's face in orange shades and James couldn't help but suppress a gasp by his beauty. Even though his face had various cuts and bruises he still looked angelic and James realized that he had covered his mouth with his hands, overwhelmed by the sight. He almost couldn't believe that he was really alive. There was a soft quirking of sandals when the nurse quietly left the room, but James almost didn't take notice - instead he was mesmerized by the sight of Michael.

   
"God..." he whispered behind the hands covering his mouth and immediately flinched when his larynx protested by reminding him of just how much speaking hurt. His eyes had watered up and he blinked to clear his vision, trying to completely take in what was before him. It was hard to fathom that Michael was really right here next to him, breathing and alive. That they were both here. Half a day ago James would have never thought that this would be the case. Lowering his hands from his mouth slowly he found himself reaching out to touch Michael's face. He looked so peaceful as he lay there, bathed in the orange light. Trying to stop his fingers from trembling too much James carefully let a fingertip touch Michael's cheek. Warmth. He felt warmth. A pant escaped him and for a moment he had to focus hard not to start crying. Licking his lip a little anxiously his glance darted to the bandages wrapped around Michael's hand... A venflon was in his other, attached to a drip standing by the headboard. The white hospital sheets were tucked up around Michael's upper chest, hiding the bandages that James knew had to be covering his abdomen. In a way he was grateful for that. He couldn't stand to see him hurt like this...

   
"James...?" Michael suddenly said hoarsely. Surprised James snapped his head back to look at Michael's face - and found himself staring directly into his eyes. The sight almost took his breath away and instantly he felt short of breath. Finding that his mouth was suddenly dry James could only nod as a response, trying his best to send Michael a reassuring smile. It felt more like some sort of contortion though. He wanted to smile, he genuinely wished that he could. But for some reason a tint of magenta was burning in his cheeks again and he had a weird urge to cast down his glance.

   
"Thank god!" Michael burst out in a raspy voice and motioned to lift his head from the pillow. Immediately he winced and let out a groan, letting his head stay in its resting position. Blinking rapidly as if he wasn't sure if he was hallucinating Michael's lips formed an insecure smile as he studied James' face. The bed ward fell completely silent for a moment. James was looking at Michael, slack-jawed in amazement that he truly was alive and he was watching how the last rays of sun was sparkling in the green and blue shades in his eyes. At the same time James couldn't determine what was going on in his own head. It felt like his whole world was crashing down on him, yet still he was full of relief and gratitude. Conflicting emotions seemed to bombard his mind with overwhelming intensity. The burning in his cheeks had intensified and carefully he removed his hand from Michael's face as he cast down his glance. When his fingertips lost contact with Michael's warm skin it almost felt like something inside of him broke. Like something vital was ripped in half. James suppressed the sudden urge to let out a sob. It seemed like Michael somehow picked up on this sudden sadness flowing through him, because before James could pull his hand away completely Michael lifted his arm slightly:

   
"Please..." he said softly, his eyes big and pleading. James immediately froze, only daring to lift his gaze to look at him shortly. His voice sounded so sincere. Vulnerable. Michael's hand was still slightly raised in the air, but James could tell that he wasn't trying to pressure him. He was scared, he realized. Michael was scared. Of what he wasn’t sure about. But carefully James stretched his hand back out and placed it on top of Michael's, softly pushing down his forearm to return it to its relaxed position on the sheets. The touch was soothing and scary at the same time and James couldn't help but curse himself in his mind.

   
"Thank you," Michael whispered. His glance had not once left James' face and for some reason James felt like he could just vanish. Evaporate. In a way he wished that he could do just that... But still he didn't want to. It was like he didn't know anything anymore. Complete confusion and utter helplessness seemed to headline his every thought at the moment and he hated himself for it.

   
"James... Please speak to me," Michael said under his breath as he looked at him. His gaze looked worried. Analyzing. Loving. Doubtful. And scared. All at the same time. A small sniffle escaped James and he lifted the clipboard into the air a little, indicating that he would have to use both of his hands in order to communicate. James thought he saw a small glimpse of what looked like surprise in Michael's eyes, but instantly he nodded.

   
"Oh...! Sorry. Of course," he said and sent James a weak smile when he pulled back his hand. Breaking contact was both painful and strangely relieving, James thought. Suppressing another sniffle he fumbled to grab the pen.

   
"How are you? I mean, how... Please tell me that you're okay," Michael stammered and blinked when his eyes seemed to water up a little as well.

   
"I'm so sorry..." Michael said, guilt clearly present in his voice all of a sudden. Surprised James looked up at him shortly before he started to scribble on the paper. Michael drew in a ragged breath.

   
"Oh god..." he said, closing his eyes briefly as if he was trying to regain his composure. He opened his eyes back up when James placed his hand on his forearm, showing him the paper. It simply read 'I'M SORRY' and for a moment Michael looked confused, his glance darting from James and back to the paper numerous times.

   
"What do you mean? Why are you sorry?" Michael asked, perplexed. Quickly James removed the clipboard and turned it, writing some more. While scribbling he wiped at his eyes, annoyed that they kept watering up. He felt pathetic. He turned the clipboard back, showing Michael the words "I GOT YOU SHOT". Immediately Michael's eyebrows shot up in bewilderment.

   
"What?? No!" he almost spat. James instantly turned the clipboard back, continuing to frantically scribble down words. Michael was almost piercing him with his glance, looking both dumbstruck and slightly angry at the same time.                

   
"No, you didn't! I got myself shot...!" Michael said, but James turned the clipboard towards him again with a text saying "PLEASE FORGIVE ME". A frustrated huff escaped Michael as he read it and this time he shook his head, grimacing as he did.

   
"Listen to me," he said and looked at James, his glance determined and his eyes wet.

   
"You have no fault in this. None. Don't ever tell yourself otherwise!", he said in a stern yet soft voice.

   
"If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it's me... because I failed you when you needed me the most," he whispered as he looked at James with something that looked like despair in his eyes. James shook his head and wrote down more sloppy letters on the paper.

   
"I was too slow. I waited too long. I... I was supposed to get you out of there," Michael said, his voice cracking when he blinked at a tear escaping the corner of his eye. James turned the clipboard and showed the words "YOU SAVED ME FROM HIM". Michael turned his head away a little after reading it, looking almost defeated.

   
"I should have done it sooner..." he said, seemingly gone in thought. James finished writing some more, flipped the clipboard and showed him the paper with the text "THANK YOU FOR SAVING MY LIFE". For a moment Michael just looked at him. In the orange light he looked almost divine, James thought. Like a bronze statue of a graceful demi-god.

   
"Thank you for saving mine," Michael then said, a hint of a sad smile now lingering in the corner of his mouth. James was just looking at him, unsure if he was to smile or cry. A few seconds passed as they just looked at each other - not able to determine if the silence was slightly uncomfortable or actually pleasant.

   
"James, I want to you to know that I want what is best for you..." Michael then said hesitantly and blinked a couple of times, trying to battle the overflow of water in his eyes.

   
"I assume that Anne-Marie is on her way here, and... and I..." he stammered, casting down his glance.

   
"I understand that you have to go home with her... and I understand if you can't see me anymore," he said in a weak voice, carefully looking at James as he bit his lip. With a slight frown James grabbed the pen once more and started writing.

   
"I'm an idiot, James. A complete idiot. And I let my jealousy ruin everything. I always do," Michael mumbled lowly, his fingers fiddling with the sheets restlessly. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes for a few seconds, bracing himself. The sound of pen against paper was the only thing to be heard in the bed ward. Slowly James looked up at him and turned the clipboard around just as Michael opened his eyes again. James watched as Michael's glance darted across the paper, reading the sloppy letters which read: "I DON'T WANT TO GO". Michael's eyebrows immediately shot up and he looked at James inquiringly, not sure what to make of this.

   
"What do you mean?" Michael asked. James scribbled again, this time with a tiny, insecure smile trying to force the corners of his mouth upwards. It didn’t make it all the way though. He turned the clipboard for Michael to read. For a moment Michael was just glaring at the paper, looking completely lost as if he had suddenly lost the ability to read. Then he let out a hoarse sound which sounded like a mix between a pained pant and a relieved sob. Finally the tears he had been holding back started rolling down his cheeks and he read the words again. His lips parted in a smile as his glance slowly followed the contours of each letter, spelling out "I LOVE YOU".

   
"I love you too, James!" he burst out, his lips quivering slightly.

   
"God, I love you so much...!" he said and carefully reached out his hand a little. He was doing it very slowly as if he was afraid that James might shy away from him.

   
"Can I...?" he asked. James nodded in response and ever so gently Michael brushed his cheek with his thumb. James closed his eyes and leaned against his hand a little, grateful for the touch that didn't frighten him quite as much as he had thought it would. But still it felt different from what it used to.

   
"What did I ever do to deserve you..." Michael mumbled as he traced his fingers along James' bruised cheekbone. The touch was light and James felt goose bumps rise on his skin. The tone of magenta in his cheeks was still burning but he found himself cupping Michael's hand with his own, pressing it a little harder against his cheek. He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He could feel himself tremble from the touch and he felt almost lightheaded in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. Why was he still feeling sad?

   
"Hi, time's up, you guys," a voice suddenly said and both Michael and James snapped their heads to the side to look at the nurse who had walked in without them even registering it. For a moment she looked a little confused, her glance fixed on their overlapping hands caressing James' face. Immediately Michael started to pull his hand away - a courtesy he was used to give James when out in public. Actually they had agreed on keeping this whole relationship a secret and touching where anyone could see it was a definite no-go. But James didn't let him move as much as an inch. Instead he pressed down on Michael's hand resolutely, keeping it in place. For a second Michael froze completely and looked at James a little slack-jawed, baffled by this sudden display of affection in public. The nurse looked equally surprised and cleared her throat slightly.

   
"Good to see that you're awake, Michael," she said and sent them a somewhat insecure smile.

   
"James, it's time to go back to your ward. You need rest and so does Michael," she said and approached them, sandals quirking against the floor. For a moment Michael thought he saw a flash of fear in James' azure eyes. It looked like an internal battle of epic proportions was going on in his head and he was almost digging his fingers into the back of Michael's hand.

   
"James..." Michael said softly, trying to figure out exactly what was going on in his mind. He came up short though.

   
"I don't want to leave you..." James croaked, his voice cracking and turning into a cough. The nurse instantly let out a protesting sound as she grabbed a hold of the handles of his wheelchair, clearly unhappy that he had chosen to actually speak instead of using the pen and paper as instructed. James' eyes were fixed on Michael, a pleading expression radiating from them so intensely that Michael felt his breath hitch. Carefully he brushed James' cheek again with his thumb, moving it in soothing circles.

   
"But I'll be right here," Michael said and smiled a little. James looked hesitant, uncertainty still on display on his pale face as he kept pressing down on Michael's hand on his cheek.

   
"I won't go anywhere. I'm here for you, James," Michael said and then raised his eyebrows, looking at him sternly:

   
"And please use the clipboard, silly," he added and smiled. James let out a little huff, a slight smile lingering on his lips but not quite breaking through. Very slowly Michael started to pull his hand away a little and this time James reluctantly let him. But he looked almost hurt as he did so.

   
"It's alright..." Michael said, trying to make James realize that he wasn't going anywhere. He wasn't going to give him up either. Not even if his life depended on it. Unless of course James wanted him to - and the thought of that instantly sent a shudder through him. But when their hands parted and the physical contact was lost Michael was now the one who wanted to return his hand and re-establish the touch. It felt like a sudden void was swallowing him up. Why did this all feel so scarily brittle all of a sudden??

   
"We'll get through this. Together," Michael said in a shaky voice, trying to calm James down and assure him that everything was going to be okay. But he suddenly wasn't sure if he was talking to James. It felt more like he was trying to alleviate his own fears. He swallowed hard when James scribbled something on the paper. In the last rays of the evening sun his dark locks had a red shine to them as they hung down in front of his face, filtering the light into illuminated pinstripes on his skin. He truly was beautiful. Then his attention was caught by the quirking of the nurse's sandals impatiently shifting their weight back and forth and his chain of thought was broken. James turned the clipboard around, looking at him insecurely and with a sort of pleading expression dominating the many emotions present in his glance right now. Michael's eyes scanned the letters, which had been written to be a bit bigger than the rest. The text simply read  'PROMISE?'. Michael suppressed the urge to snap for air and he looked at James, feeling a sensation of doubt stubbornly starting to pool in his gut. He didn't even know why. All he had ever wanted in this world was James - and it still was. Nothing could ever change that. His love was as solid as a rock, yet still everything felt so incredibly fragile all of a sudden and for a reason that he didn’t fully understand. This whole situation and the severity of it was taking its toll on their minds, and everything they had been through was definitely leaving some scars behind that were completely unmendable. They both knew that. But could they work through it? Did they have the strength for it? Michael wanted to think so. He had to. 

   
"I promise," Michael said, trying to keep his voice even while blinking at a tear suddenly forming in his eye. James sent him a small smile, but his glance was strangely sad as he clenched the clipboard in his lap.

   
"We really have to go now. The doctor will see you in a minute, Michael," the nurse said with a polite smile and started pulling at James' wheelchair. As soon as the distance between them started to grow it felt like James' heart was plummeting to the bottom of his stomach. Locked in eye contact with Michael he clenched the clipboard even harder and he couldn't help but curse himself in his mind for all of this insecurity overwhelming him. It couldn't be like this. It couldn't. Why was he feeling this way? He knew that he loved Michael more than life itself, yet there was this nagging sliver of doubt lodging itself in his brain, telling him that their otherwise unbreakable love was now somehow suddenly built upon sand. What good was unbreakable love if it crumbled at its foundations? James swallowed and cringed, but not from the physical pain. Was this feeling something he was telling himself to distance himself from everything or did he interpret the look in Michael’s eyes correctly? Was this it? Could they ever look each other in the eyes again without flashing back to that living room? The thought hit him like a freight train and immediately a twinge of gut wrenching guilt shot through him. He thought he saw a reflection of the same volatile mix of emotions in Michael's eyes as well, but he really couldn't tell - and in the same moment the nurse turned the wheelchair around and started to push him out of the bed ward. He wanted to protest and grab a hold of the hospital bed to prevent the gap between them from growing – but for some reason he couldn’t understand, he didn’t. Instead he turned his head to look at Michael. He was sending him a smile that was supposed to look calm and reassuring… But the look in his eyes didn’t match it. He was oddly pale and his hands were clenching the sheets a little harder than necessary. And all too soon James lost sight of Michael when the nurse pushed the wheelchair around the corner and into the corridor. Instantly a weird feeling of emptiness and something which resembled sorrow washed through him and hit him square in the gut. His breath hitched and he couldn’t help but think the unthinkable - was this goodbye? He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. But why? He and Michael had been through hell together… And maybe it was too much. Maybe the damage had been done? Beyond repair. No matter what happened from now on things would never be the same. An imaginary whiff of lavender suddenly hit his nostrils and he winced. It was like this scent was the only thing that remained… The only thing that didn’t change and fade away from him. But it couldn’t be. He knew this. He had to know this. He stifled a sob as the nurse rolled him back into his bed ward, saying something which was probably caring and sweet – but he didn’t hear her. All he could think of was Michael and the sadness in his eyes.  
Were they going to make it?  
Together?    

 

 

**THE END**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final chapter, folks! *Gasp*
> 
> Sorry for being such a sadistic writer. I'm just a sucker for open endings and tear jerkers. So I will leave it up to you to decide if they make it together or not. Sorryyyyy. But I am just not the type of writer who finds any joy in writing about psychological aftermath or emotional fix-its and such.... I hope you forgive me! 
> 
> And I want to thank you all for sticking with me this far and for all of your lovely comments. They mean the world to me.  
> HUGS to you all.


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